


(The Piece) I was Missing All Along

by lauren3210



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Infidelity against an OC, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/lauren3210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(The Piece) I was Missing All Along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmoretteHD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/gifts).



> To my dear Amorette, I had a wonderful time writing for you. I don't think I managed to get in everything that you listed, but I hope that what I came up with captured the feel of the type of fic you enjoy reading the most. A big thanks to the mods for matching me up so perfectly, as well as their continual awesomeness; to my beta for pointing out all my many mistakes, and to kedavranox and melusinahp for helping me back on Amorette's track when I floundered. You guys all rock!

_November, 1998_

The common room was quiet, finally. Draco sat down in an armchair in front of the fire with a satisfied sigh. Grabbing a table, he spread out his Ancient Runes books and parchment, and vaguely wondered if he should summon a house elf to ask for some tea. He shook his head; if someone were to come down, he'd need to be able to pack up his things and move on quickly, and tea would only slow that process down. Salazar, how he _hated_ this new shared common room. At least if he was down in the dungeons he could be ignored without having to give up his customary seat by the fire. But up here in the west tower, he had to contend with stray Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and even the odd _Hufflepuff_ for Salazar's sake. The other Slytherins just ignored Draco these days, but everyone else seemed to enjoy trying to get a rise out of him.

McGonagall was obviously out of her Scottish mind, shoving all the returning Eighth Years into a House all of their own and expecting everyone to just get along. The last couple of months had been torture for Draco and the other Slytherins who had decided to try and finish their education. There was only the four of them: Pansy, Blaise, Draco, and the Greengrass girl none of the other three had ever talked to much. Out of the four, Draco got it the worst, for obvious reasons, although nobody seemed inclined to let Pansy's mistakes go either. Although to be fair, she had been rather vocal about them. Pansy had taken to also ignoring Draco, probably in the hopes that it would endear her to the rest of their classmates. Draco thought she was wasting her time, but he didn't make it harder for her. He understood where she was coming from; his own mistakes had been much larger.

Draco sighed tiredly and opened his textbook. Once the prince of Slytherin House, now relegated to waiting for the common room to clear out before being able to sit down and finish his homework on his own. Really, the only thing worse than being back at Hogwarts this year would be sitting at home with his mother.

As he bent down and began the first of the six translations he had to complete before the morning, Draco idly wondered if Potter would be joining him at some point later on. One of the few good things about being forced to do his homework in the middle of the night was that the less Draco slept, the less chance there was for him to have nightmares. Falling into bed at four in the morning meant that he was more likely to fall into a sleep deep enough for the memories of the previous years to leave him be. If it also meant walking around with bags under his eyes and in a semi comatose state during the day, well, that was a price he was happy and willing to pay. It only made it easier to ignore everybody else. And he wasn't the only one, it seemed. More often than not, Potter would tumble down the stairs and into the common room, tiredness written in every movement of his body and yet seemingly unable to find sleep. He never seemed to mind sharing the space with Draco, unlike so many of the others, opting to sit in an armchair on the other side of the fireplace and stare at nothing, while Draco steadily worked at his essays.

It was weird, but Draco found his presence oddly comforting on those nights.

Draco was just starting on his fifth set of translations when the portrait door suddenly swung open. He turned in his seat and watched as Potter practically fell through the hole. His black hair was standing up even more haphazardly than usual, his chest was heaving, and he had a wild look in his eyes. He looked like he'd just gone a few rounds with the Whomping Willow.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked quietly, the words falling out of his mouth before he could think about them. He tensed, holding his breath. He wasn't sure if their shared moments in front of the fire late at night meant that they could ask each other questions like that. Or talk to each other at all, actually.

Harry laughed quietly, a little hysterically. “I just lost my virginity,” he whispered, sounding a little awestruck.

“Congratulations.” Draco looked down at his Runes translations; he had absolutely no intention of talking about _that_ with Potter of all people. Even if it had so far been the most civil conversation he'd had in weeks.

“It was terrible.”

Draco looked up again and Potter sank down into his usual late night seat across from him. “It was going great, Ginny was... but then we were, I touched her...” He trailed off and his hands made loose approximations of breasts in front of his chest. Draco had seen enough of the girl Weasel to know that Potter was being more than generous with size. “It was... they felt weird, and I think I might be gay.”

He let out another soft, hysterical laugh and buried his head in his hands. Draco blinked and stared at the top of Harry’s messy head. He really hadn't been expecting _that._

Potter mumbled something into his hands and stilled suddenly. Then he looked up and fixed Draco with a furious look, the fire turning his eyes from green to amber. “I suppose you're going to go and tell everyone about how the Chosen One's bent now, are you?”

Draco laughed humourlessly. “Haven't you noticed how hardly anybody will speak to me? I have nobody to tell.” He focused his gaze back on the open textbook in front of him. “Besides,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “It would be a little hypocritical of me.”

He heard Potter spluttering but didn't look up. “Does that mean... are you...?”

“Gay? Yes, Potter. Try not to have a conniption.”

“Huh,” Potter said, staring at him blankly, and Draco tried not to roll his eyes. He was trying this new thing these days, keeping some of his less than pleasant thoughts to himself. It helped that nobody seemed willing to listen to him anyway.

“I guess you were the right person to come out to, then.”

Draco did raise his eyes at that. “If you think I'm going to sit here and give you advice on how to be queer, I'd suggest you go to Pomfrey and get your head examined, Potter.”

“Actually, I meant the opposite.” Draco raised an eyebrow. Potter shrugged back. “If I told anybody else, they'd all want to talk about it. But you won't, because you don't give a fuck about me.”

Against his will, Draco felt a small smile pulling at his lips. “Well, in that case, I'm so glad I could be of service.”

Potter smiled suddenly, his green eyes twinkling. Draco felt a little bit like he'd just been Stunned.

“Thanks for the chat, Malfoy.”

 

_December, 1998_

Draco stepped down the last stair into the common room and stopped dead. “Oh. I thought everybody had left already.”

“They did,” Potter replied, not looking up from where he was crouched on the floor. In front of him sat a strange metal contraption, that seemed to be emitting steam and gurgling to itself.

“You're not going with them?”

Draco couldn't help but ask. Ever since that night a few weeks ago, he and Potter had been in a strange sort of limbo with each other. They still sat in the common room together until late into the mornings, but now they sometimes talked instead of pretending each other didn't exist. They didn't talk about anything important or personal, just things like recent Quidditch matches and whether or not Filch managed to get the exploded salamander eggs off the dungeon ceiling. But even though this sort of question was veering maybe a little too close to being personal, Potter not going with the Weasleys and Granger to wherever they went for Christmas made Draco curious enough to ask.

Potter shook his head, still eyeing the strange machine in front of him. He poked it in a couple of places with his wand. “Not for a couple more days. McGonagall said I could use her fireplace for when I want to go.” The machine made a beeping noise and Draco jumped. “I wanted to give them some time together, just the family.”

“I always thought you'd been adopted into the family,” Draco murmured, finally giving in to his curiosity and stepping closer.

“Not since I broke up with Ginny,” Potter said with a wry smile. “Molly'll forgive me eventually. She just kind of had our lives already planned out.”

“I know the feeling,” Draco mumbled to himself. He waved his hand when Potter looked up at him quizzically. “Okay, are you going to tell me what the hell that thing is?”

Potter grinned and grabbed... a cup? “That _thing_ is a coffee machine. It's a muggle thing,” he explained, quirking an eyebrow at Draco's nonplussed look. “It uses electricity to make coffee, which you then drink.”

Draco held up a finger. “Two questions: One, I thought that muggle eckeltric- whatever couldn't work where there was lots of magic, and two, why the hell would you want to make coffee in the first place? It's a disgusting drink.”

Potter gaped at him. “You don't like coffee?”

“I've never tried it,” Draco sniffed. “It's a drink for commoners; proper people drink tea.”

“Right, I forgot I wasn't talking to a normal person.” Potter rolled his eyes.

Draco decided to ignore that remark. “And you didn't answer my first question; how are you getting it to work if it's muggle?”

“It's my Muggle Studies project, you know, mixing magic with muggle, get them working together to make them better.” Potter leaned over the machine with the cup in his hand; a moment later he lifted it again, now filled with dark brown liquid.

Draco wrinkled his nose, even though the smell was more enticing than off-putting. “Who's your partner on that?”

Muggle Studies had been made mandatory for everyone at the start of the year. All the seventh and eighth year students had to work in pairs on a project, trying to make magic and muggle things work in tandem with each other. According to the new Muggle Studies teacher, it didn't matter if the project worked or failed, as long as each pair recorded their findings and tried to find out why. Draco didn't understand how you could pass a test by _failing_ it, but he'd heard Granger likening it to science experiments in muggle schools, so he'd just decided that this was a thing that muggles _did._

“Padma,” Potter said, bringing the cup up to his nose and taking a deep breath in through his nose. “How about you?”

“Boot,” Draco replied flatly, anticipating Potter's wince. Everyone knew Boot was a prat who couldn't shut up. Draco spent most of their time working on their project silently fantasising about the many different ways he might use to shut him up.

“Ouch. Bad luck there,” Potter said. He took a sip of his coffee and groaned.

“At least mine is pretty to look at,” Draco said unthinkingly, and then froze. It was the first time either of them had brought up the subject of their shared sexuality. Draco blamed the obscene groan Potter had made over his stupid coffee.

“At least mine talks _to_ me, instead of just _at_ me,” Potter replied, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Draco raised his eyebrows, sinking down onto the sofa behind Potter. “Touché. My, my, whoever would have thought Potter would be good at witty repartee.”

“You would've, if you'd bothered to get to know me at any point in the last seven years.”

“Ouch.” Draco put a hand over his heart. “Two for two. I'm shocked, Potter, truly.”

“And I'm about to go for a third.” Potter pulled himself up from his crouch and sat on the edge of the sofa next to Draco. “Because you're about to try this, and then tell me just how wrong you were about the wonder that is coffee.”

Draco stared at the cup in disgust as Potter held it out to him. “I will not!”

Potter pushed the cup further into Draco's personal space. “What's the matter, Malfoy? Scared?”

Draco scowled. “Cute, Potter.” Then he sighed and reached for the cup. “Oh, fine. But only so that I can tell you just how vile it is.”

He pulled his wand from his sleeve, ready with a Scourgify to clean his mouth out afterwards, and raised the cup to his lips. He took a tentative sip, and then made a surprised noise. It actually tasted... good. He took another, larger mouthful. _Really_ good, actually.

“So? What d'you think?”

Draco looked at Potter over the rim of the cup. “It's... not bad, I suppose,” he mumbled, not wanting to give in too easily. He also didn't want to let on just how much he wanted to drain the rest of the drink. He held on tightly to the handle, just in case Potter tried to take it back. “I could get used to it, if I had to.” He tried to shrug nonchalantly.

Potter just smirked at him and fell back onto the sofa cushions with a satisfied humming noise.

“Sure, Malfoy. Whatever you say.”

 

_February, 1999_

It was a relief to step outside the castle and get away from everything that was pink and fluttery for a few hours. For reasons that Draco could never understand, Hogwarts went just as nuts over Valentine's Day as it did during Christmas. This year in particular, the decorations were even more gaudy and over the top than usual. It was beginning to make his head hurt.

“Hurry up, Malfoy, for Merlin's sake,” Potter called to him from just in front. “If we hurry, we can snag a table at the back of the pub and not have to deal with anything pink for the rest of the day.”

Draco quickened his pace to catch up, adjusting his scarf for the third time. It was still cold out, although the snow had long since turned to brown-streaked sludge beneath their feet. He and Potter had been doing this ever since Christmas, spending their weekends together when their other friends were busy with each other. Not that Draco had many of those these days, but he still talked to Blaise – when he wasn't busy finding himself a pretty young thing to shag – and Pansy, when she took a moment from trying to recreate herself in the eyes of the other students. But Draco was finding himself more and more comfortable in Potter's presence; he'd even spent a few evenings playing chess with Weasley or discussing Arithmancy theories with Granger (although he suspected Potter had asked them to. At least at first).

They had left the castle the moment Filch had grudgingly opened the doors, so the Three Broomsticks was fairly empty still by the time they arrived. Potter pointed out a table right at the back and Draco went to sit down while Potter ordered them a couple of butterbeers to warm themselves up from the walk over.

They sat with their drinks and talked about Quidditch teams. Draco teased Potter about his recent crush on Anthony Goldstein - _“It's not_ him, _it's just, have you seen the size of his hands?”_ \- and Potter retaliated by threatening to cut off Draco's supply of coffee (he'd become surprisingly addicted to the stuff). By lunchtime, any Hogwart’s student who hadn’t been coerced into going to Madam Puddifoot’s was sat in the pub. Draco was glad of the wide berth a lot of them still gave him, because it meant that he could keep their table clear while Potter went up to order their food. By the time Harry had struggled back through the crowd to the table, both Weasley and Granger had turned up.

“Hey,” Potter said to his friends, sliding into the booth next to Draco. “I thought you two would be going to the tea shop along with everyone else?”

“I'm pretty certain I'd rather be back on the run from Voldemort, to be honest,” Granger sniffed. Her face was brushed a faint pink from the cold. She really was very pretty, when she did something with her hair. Not that she often did.

(The first time Voldemort had been referenced so casually in front of him, Draco had stiffened and had had to work at not throwing up all over his Charms essay. After spending time with the Golden Trio however, he was slowly becoming inured to it. He hardly even flinched these days.)

Weasley laughed and slung his arm across Granger's shoulders. “The best thing about dating Hermione is that all that pink crap makes her feel just as sick as the rest of us.”

“Oh, _that's_ the best thing about me, is it?”

“I'd have thought it was being able to copy her class notes,” Draco said quietly. He still wasn't sure just how much he was welcome to participate in their group conversations.

Potter laughed loudly, Granger lifted an eyebrow, and Weasley's face dropped as he mumbled, “Yeah, you'd think, wouldn't you? But _noooo.”_

Draco and Potter's food blinked into existence on the table, and they both got stuck into their fish and chips immediately. Granger stood up to let Weasley go and order for them both at the bar, and then engaged Draco in a conversation about their recent Runes assignment while Potter interjected inane comments such as, “Yeah, I thought that too,” and, “oh wow, I was _just_ about to say the exact same thing!”

They were almost halfway through their meal when a shadow fell over their table. Potter looked up with a smile and Draco followed suit, expecting Weasley to be back from the bar. But instead it was MacMillan, who grinned at Potter as he slid into the booth next to Granger.

“Merlin, it's jammed in here today,” MacMillan said, giving Granger a wide smile. Draco noticed how he didn't bother looking at him. He resisted rolling his eyes. “You'd think most everyone would be over at Madam Puddifoot's this weekend. Oh, chips! I am starving.”

Granger replied with some comment about how Valentine's Day was nothing more than an excuse to get people to spend money, but Draco wasn't listening. He was too busy watching Potter. MacMillan had reached over to Potter's plate and taken a chip off his slowly dwindling pile. Potter flinched, and his shoulders hunched over, the hand still holding his knife jerking as though he wanted to reach out and stab the Hufflepuff. Draco could commiserate, but he didn't think Potter usually went around wanting to stab Hufflepuffs. He looked over at Granger, who was staring at Potter with a look of concerned pity in her eyes. MacMillan didn't seem to notice; he was too busy stealing another couple of chips from Potter's plate.

Draco shoved his plate across the table towards MacMillan. “You can finish mine, if you like. I'm full now.”

MacMillan looked up at him in shock.

Granger leaned over and took a chip. “Thanks Malfoy. Ron is taking forever getting back from the bar.”

MacMillan mumbled something and started eating the rest of Draco's chips. Potter relaxed slightly next to him and carried on eating his own lunch. Granger watched him eat for a long moment before turning to look at Draco. There was something considering in her eyes, but there was also a small, grateful smile on her lips.

There was a story there, Draco thought. And for some reason he found himself actually wanting to find out what it was. He was interested in learning about _Potter._

 

_April, 1999_

“There is no way,” Potter yelled across the Quidditch pitch. He threw his new Firebolt towards the stands and stalked closer to Draco. “There is no _way_ you beat me without cheating.”

Draco grinned and held the madly fluttering Snitch over his head. “Sore loser, Potter? I can't help being better than you.”

“You're _not_ better than me, you fucking cheat!” Potter grabbed Draco by the collar and shook him slightly, his eyes blazing furiously. “What did you do? Put a Confundus on the Snitch?”

“It came towards me and I grabbed it, that's all. You lost, Potter, deal with it,” Draco replied, grabbing hold of Potter's wrist and pulling, only to succeed in strangling himself more.

“I only lost because you're a dirty, cheating Slytherin,” Potter hissed, and then suddenly they were on the floor, rolling over and over in the chilly grass, each trying to dislodge the other's grip on them so they could throw a good punch.

“And here...” _tussle,_ “I thought...” _roll,_ “Gryffindors were supposed...” _scrabble,_ “to know how to lose graciously,” Draco huffed as they scuffled together through the damp grass and mud of the pitch.

“Is this that _USR_ thing that you were telling me about?” A female voice came from nearby.

Draco looked up from where he was straddling Potter's waist, Potter's hand still fisted in his collar and dragging him down close to his face. Draco was pretty sure his hair was in Potter's mouth. Ginny Weasley was standing close by, holding Potter's discarded broomstick and looking down at them consideringly.

 _“UST,”_ Granger said from next to her. Draco had no idea what they were on about.

Girl Weasley nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think I see what you mean, now.”

Dean Thomas, sitting in the stands, leaned over and whispered something in Seamus Finnigan's ear, and the Irishman let out a loud cackle.

“Wait, is that that thing you were telling me about the other day?” Weasley shouted at Granger from next to Dean. “From those muggle books you read?”

Granger flushed slightly pink. “It's important to keep up with what's happening in the muggle world, including fiction,” she sniffed.

Draco looked down at Potter, who had gone a startling shade of red. “Get off me,” he muttered, finally letting go of Draco's neck and using that hand to shove him over onto the grass.

“Are we taking bets on when it gets resolved?” Girl Weasley asked conversationally.

“Seamus is,” Granger murmured.

“Oh, don't tease them,” Luna Lovegood said in her usual dreamy voice. She was sitting at the base of the stands, making a chain out of daisies picked from the pitch. “I think it's nice to see two boys having a cuddle.”

Potter, if possible, went even more red in the face. “Luna, we weren't... we were _fighting.”_

“Oh, were you?” Luna asked serenely.

Draco decided he wasn't going to try and understand _any_ of this. Instead, he looked down at the Snitch, still somehow held tight in his fist, and then held it out to Potter. “Best two out of three?”

Potter looked over at him, and his wince of embarrassment turned into a grin.

“You're on.”

 

_June, 1999_

Draco was slumped in his seat by the fireplace. It was as hot as dragon's breath in the common room, and the fire wasn't burning, but he'd become used to this armchair over the past year. It had sort of become _his_ chair. The portrait door opened and Potter stumbled through, groaning with relief and throwing himself into the chair opposite.

“Thank fuck that's over. I never want to see another exam paper ever again,” he groaned at the ceiling, one leg draped over the arm of the chair.

“I'm pretty sure there are exams in Auror training too, so I think you'll be out of luck there,” Draco muttered with a tired smile.

Potter moaned dramatically. “Ugh, don't remind me. What was the point in defeating Voldemort if all I get out of it is a life full of exams?”

Draco laughed; he'd become far more used to the casual mentions of Voldemort over the past year. “It was only two weeks worth of exams, hardly an entire lifetime, you big baby.”

“Yeah, well, you didn't take Astronomy,” Potter mumbled grumpily. They both looked up and waved half-heartedly as a couple of Ravenclaw students toppled into the common room. “But at least it's done now.”

“Until the Auror training exams.”

Potter threw a cushion at his head. “What did I say about reminding me?” He slumped down further in his chair and closed his eyes. Draco took a moment to let his gaze travel over the line of Potter's throat, the way his dark lashes brushed across his cheekbones like shadows. “What about you? Any more exams in your future?”

“Lots, probably. I got into the Potions Masters course I wanted.”

Potter opened his eyes and grinned at Draco. “You did? That's fantastic, good for you!”

Draco smiled in thanks and then hummed a little. “I'm going to have to find a place to live while I'm studying though,” he mused. “Don't want to have to travel from Wiltshire to London every day.”

“Move in with me.”

Draco looked up in shock. “What?”

Potter shrugged. “I was thinking about getting a flat anyway. We could do it together, find somewhere halfway between the Ministry and your college.”

Draco frowned. “I always assumed you'd be going off to live with Weasley and Granger.”

Potter snorted. “Those two are bad enough to be around in this huge castle. What makes you think living in a smaller place with them would be more fun? Besides, I think last year proved what a disaster that would be.”

Draco nodded; the loved up couple did get a bit sickening after spending a bit of time with them.

“So, what d'you say?” Potter raised his eyebrows. “On one condition though.”

“Which is?”

“We drop all this Malfoy, Potter crap.” Potter grinned at him. “What d'you say, Draco?”

Draco smiled back. “Deal, Harry.”

“Fantastic!” Potter – _Harry_ – slumped back down in his chair and waved an arm in Draco's direction. “Now go get your secret stash of firewhisky. We need to celebrate and I refuse to go to bed yet.”

Draco huffed but did as he was asked, swatting at Potter's – _Harry's_ – ankle as he passed by him. He all but ran up the stairs to his room, all the lethargy from the lateness of the time floating away. He felt light and ready for anything. He felt... _happy._ He'd realised a few weeks ago that he had come to rely on Potter's – _no, Harry's_ – friendship over the past year, and the thought of not seeing him every day once school was over had left him feeling like he had a lead weight pressing on his lungs. But now, now he could continue to see Harry – _Potter, no, Harry_ – every single day, and even better, it would be just the two of them. It would be like all those sleepless nights in front of the fire _all of the time._ Draco couldn't remember a time he'd felt so happy. He slipped into his room, careful not to wake Blaise, and grabbed the bottle of firewhisky he kept hidden in the bottom of his trunk. Then he all but skipped back down the stairs, coming to a stop when he heard voices in the common room.

“- _sure_ this is the right thing for you though, Harry?” Granger's voice said quietly. “I mean, given how you feel and everything, wouldn't living with-”

“Yes, I'm sure, Hermione,” Pot- _Harry_ interrupted, “And you promised you were going to drop that.”

“I just don't want to see you get hurt, Harry.”

“I'll be fine,” Harry said. “It's not what you and Ron think, he doesn't-” He sighed. “He just _doesn't,_ and I'm okay with that. You just have to trust me, okay?”

“Oh, Harry,” Granger whispered, sounding close to tears for some reason. “I do trust you, you know that. But I'm always here for you to talk to, you know that too, right?”

“Yeah, Hermione, I do, thanks.”

Draco decided he'd been gone long enough and hopped the last few steps down into the common room.

Granger looked up at him from where she was kneeling on the floor in front of Harry's chair. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and stood up. “Harry's just told me the news. Congratulations on getting onto the course you wanted, Malfoy.” She smiled, but it didn't seem to reach her eyes. “Hopefully we won't all live too far away from each other. I'll see you in the morning, Harry.” She leaned down and gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. As she walked past Draco, she murmured under her breath, “I know spells even Voldemort would have hesitated to use. Remember that, Malfoy.”

Draco watched her climb the stairs up to the girls' dormitory, confused and a little bit terrified.

“I think her brain finally cracked from the stress of exams,” Harry said with a light laugh.

Draco snorted and sat back down in his chair. “Hasn't she always been like that, though?”

“Pretty much.” Harry flicked his wand and conjured a couple of glasses. “Maybe it's because she's a girl. Kind of makes me glad to be gay, to be honest.”

Draco poured them both a generous measure of whisky. “I'll drink to that.”

 

_Six years later..._

Draco opened the front door with a bang. “Honey, I'm home!” He shouted into the flat in a sing-song tone. He toed off his shoes and threw them in the direction of the shoebox; the lid opened and they sailed right in.

“Unless you brought me food, I'm still not talking to you.”

Draco grimaced at the wall as the coat rack took his cloak. “Oh, come on, you can't still be mad about that,” he whined, clutching his paper bag tighter and walking into the kitchen. “I've already told you I had no idea that would happen!”

Harry looked up from his seat at the table. “Draco, I had _girl parts_ for a _week.”_

Draco frowned as he sat down. “I'm still not sure how the potion managed to equate soft skin with female sex organs.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I bought you dinner, so maybe now you'll forgive me?” He pushed the brown bag across the table towards Harry, upsetting the pile of Auror case files spread out in front of him. Harry looked at the bag, then at Draco, and Draco leant over the table, propped his chin on his arms, and gave his best pleading look.

Harry huffed and pulled the bag of food closer to himself. “Fine. But I'm not going to be your potion guinea pig any more.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “What's a guinea pig? Isn't that like old muggle money?”

But Harry wasn't listening; he was frowning into the bag. “Draco, there's only enough food in here for one.”

“Is there?” Draco sat up and tried to look innocent.

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Harry pushed the bag back towards Draco and scraped his chair back from the table. “Go ahead and eat your damned food. I'm meant to be meeting Ron and Hermione in a few minutes anyway.”

“Well now I feel stood up,” Draco yelled at his retreating back. “I really was going to share my Pad Thai with you, you know.”

“Save me some, then,” Harry said, re-appearing back in the kitchen with a different t shirt on and his coat in his fist. He grabbed the files and pulled them into a pile, banishing them to his desk in his room.

“Do I at least get a goodbye kiss first?” Draco leaned back in his chair and puckered his lips clownishly. Harry rounded the table and bent closer, and Draco's breath caught as he breathed in the smell of him. Leather and sweetness and male.

Harry flicked him on the ear. “Save me some, and I might forget about the fact that you forgot to evanesco the rubbish again last night.”

Draco scowled and rubbed his ear. “You're mean. See if I brew up any of that lube you like now.”

“Enjoy your Pad Thai.”

The front door slammed shut, and Draco sighed into the sudden silence. He grabbed a fork and his bag full of food and went into the living room, turning on the TV. He smiled as he saw that Harry had already queued up his favourite Tuesday night programmes. Working out how to make a TV work with magic might have been his and Terry Boot's project at Hogwarts, but Draco still had trouble working the bloody thing himself.

He pressed play and sank back into the sofa cushions, ready for a lazy night in by himself. He determinedly _didn't_ think about the fact that it seemed he was no longer invited on the Gryffindors' nights out, nor that it had been over a year since Hermione had looked at him with anything approaching a smile on her face. Ron often looked at him with something resembling suspicion, but it could also just be heartburn, so Draco didn't take too much notice of it. He just assumed that they didn't like how close he and Harry had grown over the years, and he couldn't fault them for it. Becoming best friends with Harry Potter had been the best thing Draco had ever done, and he would likely challenge anyone who tried to usurp his place. He might even fight fair.

He snorted into his Pad Thai at that thought, because no, he absolutely wouldn't, and Harry wouldn't expect him to, either. He shrugged, turned up the sound on the TV, and let himself get immersed in _Desperate Housewives._

 

Draco was already up by the time Harry staggered into the kitchen the following morning, looking adorably sleep-mussed and suffering. Wordlessly, Draco held out a vial of his own special hangover potion, and watched with amusement as Harry moaned gratefully and swung a hand out for it. He swallowed it back and leaned against the counter as the potion took effect.

“Morning sunshine,” Draco said brightly, his grin widening as Harry flinched.

“Give me a moment to adjust, would you?”

“Can't. I need to get into work and you still haven't made me my coffee.”

Harry flipped two fingers at him but got to work on the coffee machine. It was their ritual; Draco brewed the hangover potions, Harry made the coffee.

“So, you and your boring Gryffindor pals do anything remotely interesting last night?”

“Yeah, actually.” Harry poured in the cream and then sat down next to Draco, handing him a mug. “We made plans to go on holiday together next month.”

“Just you three?”

“And Ginny.” Harry gulped his coffee and sighed, sinking down in his chair.

Draco laughed. “Let me get this straight. You and your friend Ron, his ex-girlfriend Hermione, who is currently dating Ginny, Ron's little sister and also the girl you shagged right before you realised you were gay, are all going on holiday together?” At Harry's nod, Draco fell into peals of laughter. “Oh my God, it's like one of those _a hag, a troll, and a house elf walk into a bar_ jokes. How is that going to be anything other than awkward?”

“Because we're all friends too,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

“Just, promise me you'll take loads of pictures.” Draco wiped his eyes and sipped at his delicious coffee. “So where are you going?”

“America. We've decided to make it a sort of road trip. Hermione wants to visit New Orleans and research voodoo for a magic paper she's writing, Ron wants to go to New York, and me and Ginny both fancy taking a look at San Francisco.”

Draco frowned slightly. “How will you be able to fit all that in one holiday?”

“That's why it's a road trip; we've all decided to take a month off work and take our time visiting the sights.”

Draco's chest felt tight; his toast had obviously been too dry. “That's a bloody long holiday.”

“Well, I've never had one before.”

“Didn't you spend a year seeing all that England had to offer that one time?”

Harry smacked his arm. “Camping in a smelly tent while on the run from Voldemort wasn't a _holiday,_ you prat.”

“So, when are you going?” Draco looked down into his nearly empty mug, wondering if he could get Harry to make him some more coffee.

“Three weeks from Saturday.” Harry knocked back the rest of his drink and looked at the clock on the wall. “Fuck, I'm late for work!” He jumped up and ran to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

Draco waited until Harry turned to him and then looked down at his boxers pointedly. “You might want to get dressed first.”

“Oh. Right.”

Draco sniggered to himself as Harry rushed off to his bedroom, but the smile slipped off his face as he contemplated his empty coffee mug. What was he going to do without Harry for a whole month?

 

Having managed to escape down the hallway and hide in Harry's room, Draco stood with his ear pressed to Harry's door, listening intently to the warm, calm tones of Harry as he moved around the kitchen. The other voice was whinier, higher pitched and annoying. Draco wondered how he could have possibly found that attractive. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, he heard the front door open and shut, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He cracked the door open, and came face to face with an unamused Harry.

“Is it safe?” Draco asked, hiding most of his body behind the door, just in case.

“Safe from your latest pretty boy, you mean?” Harry raised an eyebrow and stomped off to the kitchen. Draco took a quick peek down the hall and then skipped after him. “I got rid of him for you. It wasn't easy; the poor bugger seemed convinced you'd want his address so you could firecall him later.” He nodded his head in the direction of the noticeboard.

“They're not pretty boys. Nobody's prettier than me.” Draco scowled and scrubbed it off with the back of his hand. He couldn't even remember the idiot's name; there was no way he was going to want to get in touch with him again.

“However, if you think you're safe from me, after having to kick out one of your boy toys for the millionth time, you'd better think again.”

Harry crossed his arms over his bare chest, and Draco absently let his eyes wander. He really was quite gorgeous, with all that messy black hair and the Auror toned muscles, that square jaw that when clenched like it was right now made Draco's stomach tighten and his fingers itch to-

He shook his head and smiled at Harry. “But you're so much better at it than me. They listen to your Auror authority and they can't help but do what you say.” He pouted. “They always seem to think that when I say no, I really mean yes.”

Harry turned back to the counter to make the coffee, giving Draco a perfect view of his tight, pert arse in his navy blue sleep pants. “That's because you can't look at something without trying to flirt with it.”

“I always make it perfectly clear that it's just a fuck,” Draco said, sliding into a chair and accepting the mug of coffee.

“Leaning in really close and whispering _it's only for tonight_ isn't making anything _clear,_ Draco.”

Maybe not, especially if the words are said in the sultry tone Harry was using. Draco shivered and then scowled. “I don't see why not.”

“Because it's a bloody pick up line! Especially when you say it in a sexy voice, it's like you're bringing to life their fantasy of a stolen moment of forbidden love, of course they're going to think it's more than it is.”

“'Forbidden love'?” Draco snorted. “Has Mrs Weasley been lending you her romance books again?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” Harry glared at him over the rim of his mug. “You'll have to get used to throwing them out yourself while I'm gone, anyway.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” Draco slumped over in his chair. “When are you leaving again?”

“Next Saturday.”

“That's in a week!” Draco sat up straight in shock; he hadn't realised the time had passed so quickly.

“Yep. And I expect the place to still be standing when I get back.”

“I make no promises.”

“Speaking of, we should probably get dressed, Hermione's coming over in a bit to talk through our itinerary.” Harry drained his mug and pushed it to the middle of the table.

“Isn't the point of a road trip supposed to be that there isn't an itinerary?”

Harry shrugged. “It's Hermione. Oh hey,” he continued, fiddling with the tea towel on the counter. “Do me a favour, while she's here, don't talk about all the guys you bring home on the weekends?”

“I thought she would have gotten over blushing about too much information after living all those years with Ron,” Draco smirked.

“She just, she doesn't like it, and then I get it in the neck later.” Harry was still playing with the tea towel, avoiding looking up.

Draco frowned. “Why?”

Harry just sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind. I'm going for a shower.”

Draco watched him go, confused and a little bit disappointed in Hermione. She should know better than to think that whatever Draco did, Harry did too. Harry didn't sleep around, and the only person to know that fact just as well as Draco was Hermione. Unless it was because Draco was gay? But that didn't make sense; Hermione had never shown any signs that that made her uncomfortable before, and she would have a hard time expressing distaste over _Draco_ sleeping with men _to_ Harry, who also slept with men (although, admittedly, not that often).

Draco shook his head and decided he would go out to lunch with Blaise and Pansy, instead of sitting around the flat and being judged by a bushy haired Gryffindor. He didn't need that sort of stress on a weekend.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with that bloody department of yours,” Draco muttered flatly. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into Harry’s flesh, just below his left ribs, while his other hand scrabbled through his emergency healing bag. “They should have sent you straight to St Mungo’s.”

“It’s just a cut, Draco, I’m fine,” Harry mumbled back, finally slumping down fully into the sofa, his head resting on the arm.

“And bruising. Jesus, it looks like a ton of rocks fell on top of you.”

“Not a ton. Just five or six,” Harry gasped out, as Draco applied essence of dittany to the slash across his chest.

“If I was your Auror partner, I’d have apparated you straight there,” Draco said furiously, dipping his fingers into his bruise paste and sliding it gently over the mottled colours adorning Harry’s entire left side. “You could have had internal bleeding.”

“Ron knows I don’t like hospitals.”

“Yes, and he should also know that you’re an arrogant asshole with a death wish,” Draco snapped out, reaching up to grab Harry’s jaw. He rubbed some more of the stinking paste across Harry’s cheekbone. “Are you hurting anywhere else?”

“No. M’fine.”

Draco snorted. “If you can call being a monumental idiot _fine,_ then I guess you are.” He gripped Harry’s jaw tighter, quelling the urge to shake him slightly. “Next time, go to the damn hospital, you utter fuckwit.”

“Now why would I do that, when I have you to look after me right here in my own home?” Harry asked, rather smugly, as he gingerly pulled his t shirt back down over his chest.

Draco let him go and began packing his potions away. “I’m not a healer, Harry.”

“No. But you could be. You should be.”

“Don’t start that again.” Draco stood up, banishing his bag back to the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom. “Go and get some sleep. I’m going back to bed.”

 

It only seemed like minutes after he had crashed back down onto his bed that he was gasping awake for the second time that night. Only this time, it wasn’t the sound of Harry stumbling through the floo and calling his name before coughing wetly. Draco was shaking and shivering, covered in sweat, and he couldn’t open his eyes, too afraid that if he did he’d find himself back in the Manor, sitting at that table with the great big snake as if he’d never escaped. He sat up and pressed his face into his knees, taking deep breaths and willing his heart to slow down.

The door to his room clicked open quietly, and a few moments later Draco felt the bed tip beneath him as Harry settled down next to him. They did this every time one of them had a nightmare, slipping into each others beds to fight off the loneliness. They had been doing it since school, although the frequency of the bad dreams had died off since then.

“I’m fine,” Draco mumbled into his knees. “You don’t have to. Besides, you’re injured; you should be in your own bed so you can heal properly.”

“Don’t be stupid. This is what we do,” Harry said lightly, settling himself under the covers and re-arranging the pillows beneath his head. “Anyway, this one was probably my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” Draco lied, sliding back down in bed and pulling the covers up under his chin. Harry didn’t reply and knew he didn’t believe him; he almost always had a nightmare after Harry got injured at work. Something to do with his stress levels, probably.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

Draco felt fingers carding softly through his hair, and he sighed. The remains of the nightmare drifted away, and Draco let himself fall back asleep to the rhythmic sounds of Harry’s slow breathing next to him.

 

Draco wandered into Harry's bedroom, holding two pots in his hands. “All packed?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Harry looked in his suitcase and then around the room, chewing on his lower lip.

Draco rolled his eyes and held out his hands. “Here. Some of that almond sun cream you like, and that special lube. You know, in case you get lucky.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Harry laughed and placed the jars in his case. “Thanks. You want me to bring anything back for you?”

“Yes,” Draco said seriously, nodding. “I would like one cowboy please, preferably wearing chaps and nothing else. Well, maybe a cowboy hat.”

Harry snorted. “I'm not sure I'll be able to fit one of those in my suitcase.”

“Get Hermione to help.”

“Right, will do.” He zipped up his case and shrunk it down, and then looked at Draco. “I'll be back in a month, then. Don't burn the place down.”

“I shall be the very paragon of virtue.”

Harry's snort followed him down the hall and out the front door.

“I hope you have fun,” Draco said, the words echoing in the suddenly empty flat.

He did hope Harry had fun, even if it was without him. From what he'd overheard last weekend when he'd slipped back into the flat after lunch with Pansy and Blaise, Harry had been having a rough time of it lately.

 _“Mate, we're gonna go on holiday and have a great time, and by the time we get back you'll have forgotten what he even looks like. This break from all of it is just what you need,”_ Ron's voice had been saying, as Draco had let himself quietly in through the door.

It stung a bit that Harry hadn't confided in Draco about whoever or whatever it was, but he tried not to let it bother him. Ron and Hermione had been his friends first, after all. So Draco had spent the last week before Harry's holiday just spending time with him, trying to let him know that he was here if he needed to talk. He got a few confused looks and one of terrified horror from Harry because of it, but then he maybe should have thought twice about using _Jerry Springer: The Opera_ as one of his conversation openers.

 _Speaking of television..._ Draco walked into the living room and looked at the TV with a crestfallen look. Harry hadn't queued up any of his favourite programs; he'd been too busy packing. Draco flopped onto the sofa with a groan.

This month couldn't go past quickly enough.

 

Three weeks later, an owl with a letter found Draco sitting in his kitchen, the wireless turned up obnoxiously loud and the TV on playing to itself in the living room. Draco heard exasperated tapping on his window in a lull between songs, and he got up to let in Aquila, Pansy's eagle owl. She swooped around the kitchen, cuffing him over the head with her great wing, before depositing a letter on top of his toast and flying back through the window with an indignant squawk.

“Well, hello to you too, you insufferable bird,” Draco muttered, and sat back down in front of his breakfast. He took a gulp of his coffee, grimaced at the taste and put it back down, and then grabbed the letter.

 

> _Draco, darling,_
> 
> _You're joining Blaise and I for lunch today. We haven't seen you in almost a month! Meet us in The Golden Hippogriff at noon today, I am determined to pull you out of this funk._
> 
> _Yours, Pansy._

Draco sighed and threw the letter down, picking at his toast. He didn't want to go out to lunch today, but Pansy hadn't sounded like she was giving him a choice. Draco was sure that if he didn't turn up, he would find her waiting for him in his living room when he got home from work.

He had been in a 'funk', as Pansy called it, not that he appreciated her calling him out on it. It wasn't a big deal, he just hadn't felt like going out the past few weeks, that was all. He sipped at his coffee and pulled another face. Things didn't taste right either; maybe he was coming down with something. He made a note to brew up some of his signature Pepper Up and got up from the table, throwing his full cup of coffee in the sink.

 

He spent most of the morning at work trying not to fall asleep in the new batch of cough soothing potion, thinking all the while that if he were to tweak just the tiniest amount of the salamander eggs, the potion would be twice as effective and worth twice the price. He hated having to follow his boss's recipe, but he'd been lucky to even get a job in the first place, and he knew that speaking out of turn could very well wind up with him losing it. So he held his tongue and finished the potions and scowled every time he remembered that he had to meet Blaise and Pansy for lunch when all he wanted to do was go back to his flat for an hour and complain to Harry.

Except Harry wasn't there, damn it.

He couldn't keep his bad mood for too long once he'd entered the light and airy pub and caught sight of his friends.

“Draco, darling, there you are!”

Draco smiled as he wended his way through the tables to their usual booth at the back. He kissed Pansy on the cheek and slapped Blaise on the shoulder and slid into his seat.

“Noon, Pansy? Rather early for you, isn't it?”

Pansy sniffed and looked down at her menu. “I'm usually up and at the club by eleven, as well you know it.”

Draco grinned. Pansy and Blaise ran a very lucrative wizarding nightclub together, Snake Eyes, and Draco adored them for it. Mainly because it meant he got free drinks whenever he turned up. Which, until recently, had been almost every weekend.

“How's business?” Blaise asked, once their waiter had taken their orders.

“Oh, the usual, you know.” Business was a bit of a sore point for Draco between him and Blaise; the Zabini name hadn't been as tainted by the war as others, and Pansy had been able to hold onto his coat-tails for their club. Everyone knew it was Pansy who ran the place, but as the money came from Blaise, people could overlook her involvement.

It hadn't been that easy for Draco. After finishing up his NEWTs at Hogwarts, he had been able to secure a place on a Potions master course at a local college, but even with all of those qualifications, people were hesitant to employ a Malfoy. Luckily, he'd managed to find employment as a potion brewer in a small apothecary situated just behind Gringotts, and although the old man who owned it was senile enough not to recognise Draco's surname, it also meant that Draco had little chance at moving up in the world of potions. Not until old man Scutternut kicked the bucket, anyway.

“I wondered if something had happened, to make you miss all these weekends at the club,” Blaise said, sipping his wine and regarding Draco over the top of his goblet.

“Well, the Dreamless Sleep did manage to burn through an old cauldron and put Scutternut to sleep for a few hours last week,” Draco mused. “That was a bit of a pain to clean up; I couldn't say _evanesco_ for yawning.”

“Fascinating,” Blaise said, then jumped as Pansy kicked him under the table. They glared at each other over the waiter's arm as their first course was delivered.

“You still haven’t given any thought to healer training then?” Pansy asked lightly.

Draco scowled. “You sound just like Harry. And _no,_ you know there’d be no point, so stop bringing it up.”

They shared pleasant conversation over seared scallops and beef wellington, and it wasn't until the after dinner coffee came around that Draco's absence at the club was brought up again.

“So,” Pansy began, stirring cream and sugar into her cappuccino. “You haven't been out recently.”

Draco shrugged. “I just haven't felt like it.”

Blaise slanted a look at Pansy. “See, I told you. He's pining.”

Draco choked on the piece of biscotti he'd just put in his mouth. “What? What would I even be pining for?”

“It's only natural, darling,” Pansy said, patting his hand across the table. He withdrew it with a scowl. “You and Potter have been basically living in each other's pockets for nearly seven years. A little separation anxiety is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Separa- I am not _pining_ for Harry!” Draco spluttered out. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, pushing it away from him. “People don't pine over their friends going on holiday, for Salazar's sake.”

“You two aren't exactly just friends, though,” Blaise replied, raising an infuriating eyebrow.

Draco glared at him furiously, but he couldn't deny it. Harry wasn't just an acquaintance, or a flatmate. He wasn't even a friend the way that Slytherins define their friends; people they could use to their advantage or needed to keep on their side. Harry was something different; he was the first true friend that Draco had ever had, his first relationship based on nothing but trust and a desire to be near each other, with no expectations from either side.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he told Blaise eventually, leaning back in his seat and trailing his fingers over the tablecloth.

“I mean that you're basically married to each other.”

Draco looked up and glared at his friend. Blaise knew not to use the dreaded M word in Draco's presence. “I hate to break it to you, Blaise, but sharing a flat does not wedded bliss make.”

“And I would concede to that, if that was all you and Potter did,” Blaise replied, unrepentant. “But you don't. You wash his clothes, he makes you breakfast. You brew his potions and heal him when he gets injured at work, and he throws out your conquests and helps you work all those muggle contraptions in your flat.” He sipped at his coffee. “You're married in all the ways except the sex.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but an idea forming in his head stopped the words from coming out. “You know what, Blaise?” He said eventually. “I think you might be right.” He threw a few galleons on the table and stood up, bussing Pansy on the cheek. “Thanks for the lunch invite Pans, but I've got to go.”

He walked away from the table just as he heard Pansy whisper furiously, “Blaise, what have you done?”

Draco didn't turn back, just moved to the apparition point and went straight home. Old Scutternut probably wouldn't even notice he hadn't returned to work, and Draco had some serious thinking to do.

Upon his return to the flat, he paced up and down the living room as he tried to work out his idea. Because Blaise had been right; why _weren't_ he and Harry having sex? They were both single, both gay, both incredibly attractive... Draco stopped pacing for a moment and stared into space as he thought about just how attractive Harry was, with his broad shoulders and muscled back, those delicious collarbones and those strong, capable hands and Quidditch toned thighs that looked just perfect for wrapping around Draco's waist while he-

Draco shook his head to clear the tantalising images that were beginning to make his mouth water. He could think about that later; first he had to work out a plan to get Harry to agree. Because Harry didn't do casual sex, not like Draco did. He remembered a moment back in eighth year, on what they had come to think of as their sofa, drunk on firewhisky and giggling as they fell all over each other. Draco had been too drunk to remember much of that evening, although he did vaguely recall Harry saying something about not being able to do casual sex. Draco remembered scoffing at that and telling Harry he was missing out; anonymous shags you could forget about the next day were the best thing, in Draco's opinion.

Blaise was right; Draco and Harry did have the perfect arrangement already set up. Would it be too terrible to add sex into the mix? Without making it a serious relationship, of course, because Draco didn't do serious, not now he was finally free, but it wouldn't hurt, would it? Just to be there for each other, when one had an itch they needed to scratch?

Draco nodded to himself. He'd have to phrase it just right, because he knew Harry and he knew how he always jumped to conclusions before all the facts were in. He'd make Harry a nice dinner for when he got home, and they could have a drink in front of the TV, and then Draco would ease his way into the conversation. If he got it just right, they would be shagging on the rug before the evening was over, and Draco could show Harry just how good casual sex could be.

 

Draco looked down at the letter in his hand and tried to work out how he was feeling. He was pissed off, definitely, after all the trouble he'd gone through earlier in the week. He was also a little irritated, because who did something like this? And yes, okay, he was a little bit hurt, because what the hell did bloody America have that he didn't?

> _Draco_
> 
> _We've been having a fantastic time here the past few weeks. Sorry I haven't written before, but finding an owl willing to fly across the Atlantic is bloody hard work. I'm just letting you know that I'm going to be staying on a couple more weeks. Everything here is amazing, you should see the Golden Gate Bridge! Hard to imagine muggles built it all without magic. Anyway, I'll see you in another couple of weeks,_
> 
> _Harry._

Draco screwed up the piece of parchment and glared at the snowy owl currently perched on the back of their sofa. The sofa that he and Harry were meant to be shagging each other's brains out on in less than a few hours, and now the prat was going to be away for another fortnight.

The owl hooted tiredly, her eyes drooping. Draco offered her an arm to jump onto. He led her into Harry's bedroom and propped her on the desk, scattering a few owl treats nearby. “I'll open the window so you can leave when you're ready, okay?” The owl hooted softly in reply and Draco left her there to get some sleep. He turned back at the doorway and said, “Please feel free to make yourself a nest out of all those papers.” Then he shut the door, and enjoyed a moment imagining Harry coming back to find all of his work papers shredded.

That would teach him for abandoning Draco.

 

Tuesday two weeks later found Draco busy pounding about a truckload's worth of beetle eyes into a fine paste for the Shrinking Solution he was brewing. He was hot and sweaty and a little bit shaky from his lack of morning coffee, and he almost whipped out his wand and sent a curse flying when he heard a voice behind him.

“Draco dear? You have a letter here for you.”

Draco pulled off his goggles and put a stasis charm on his potion. Turning around, he saw old man Scutternut leaning against the entryway to his workroom, holding out a letter. Draco frowned and stepped forward to take it from him. He didn't usually get post while at work; usually anything anybody wanted to say to him was sent in the mornings while he ate breakfast. He ripped the letter open.

 

> _Draco_
> 
> _I'm just letting you know that my portkey arrives tomorrow (Tuesday) at 3pm. You know, just in case you have to clear the flat of half naked boys before I get there. I don't have a cowboy for you, I'm afraid, but I do have a surprise! Meet me in the Leaky at 4 for a quick drink?_
> 
> _Harry._

Draco managed to school his features into a blank mask. Inside, he was elated, but he turned to his boss with his eyes downcast. “Do you mind if I take the afternoon off? I'm afraid I've got a little bit of an emergency I need to deal with.”

“Oh dear me, no I don't mind at all! I hope it's nothing too serious?” Old man Scutternut blinked at Draco behind his thick lenses with such concern that Draco _almost_ felt sorry for deceiving him in this way.

He shook his head. “No, it's just a bit time sensitive, that's all. I'll make it up to you though, sir.”

“Oh don't worry about that, dear boy. You just go and do whatever you need to do.” The old man patted him on the back and then disappeared into the shop.

Draco turned around twice on the spot, coming up with a list of things he needed to do. First, the flat. He pulled off his heavy apron and hung it up, then apparated straight into his living room and looked around with a deep sigh. Just over ten days ago, the place had been spotless, his way of welcoming Harry back home, before gently guiding him into agreeing to an offer of casual sex. Since Harry's last letter however, Draco had been feeling rather maudlin, and had eaten away his pain. The coffee table was littered with take out containers and mugs full of barely drunk coffee. His clothes were scattered along the hallway between his room and the bathroom, and the kitchen looked a little bit like one of the Weasley fireworks had gone off inside it.

Draco hastily vanished all of the mess and directed the kitchen to clean itself. He scooped up his dirty laundry and threw the bundle into the hamper in his room, stopping only to cast a few _scourgifys_ in the direction of the bathroom. He made his bed with clean sheets – and Harry's; the snowy owl had made a bit of a mess before she finally flew back home – and then jumped in the shower, scrubbing hard at his skin to remove the smell of potions from himself.

He took some time picking out the perfect outfit. He discarded the black turtle neck jumper, because although it did amazing things to his frame, Harry liked to call it Draco's 'pulling top'. Definitely jeans, because he'd noticed that Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes off his arse when he wore them. He stared into the depths of his wardrobe, thinking. He wanted to come across as earnest, yet casual, oozing sex but not like he was trying too hard, the kind of guy you want to share a flat with but also shag on random occasions... In the end, he went with a simple white shirt, untucked, the top two buttons left undone to show just a hint of collarbone. He pulled on his oldest, most comfortable jeans, and paired them with his black dragonhide boots. Then he stood up and looked in the full length mirror.

There, that said _best mate I'd occasionally like to fuck,_ right? Draco nodded to himself, and then looked at the time. 3.10 pm. He had just enough time to Apparate to the Leaky, get himself a drink, and work out the best way to arrange himself before Harry got there. Perfect.

 

_The Leaky Cauldron_ was fairly quiet at half past three on a Tuesday afternoon. Too late for the lunch rush and too early for the after-work drink up, so with the exception of the old hag sitting in the corner and eating a plate of raw liver, Draco pretty much had the place to himself. He bought a firewhisky and two pints, and chatted to Hannah Abbott behind the bar for a few minutes while he downed the shot of liquid courage. Then he made his way over to a booth, set down the two pints, and tried to work out the best way to lounge casually, trying all the while not to count the minutes down.

At precisely 3.58 and thirty seven seconds, the bell above the door jangled, and Draco looked up. His breath caught in his throat and he had the sudden bizarre urge to stand up and throw himself into the arms of the man who had just walked in.

Harry was _gorgeous._ He was wearing his jeans with the holes in the knees and a blue t shirt that seemed moulded to his body, and his usual pair of ratty old trainers. Every single piece of skin on show was tanned a beautiful golden colour, including the bits Draco could see through the rips in his jeans. His biceps looked even bigger than usual, which shouldn't have been the case, seeing as he'd been away from his regular Auror exercising for the last six weeks, the material of his shirt straining against the muscles. Draco managed to tear his eyes away and look up into Harry's face, and then he frowned.

“Excellent, you've already ordered,” Harry said, swooping down on his pint glass and downing half the thing in one go. “Ah, that's better, I've been dying for a proper British pint for weeks.”

Draco just stared for a moment, until he could find his voice. “Where are your glasses?”

Harry snorted and sat down opposite him. “Good to see you too, mate. It's a temporary charm, lets you have normal eyesight for a few hours at a time. I think it's meant to be used to show people what it would be like to have their eyesight fixed, but I've been using it so I can wear sunglasses. It's a pretty cool bit of magic.”

“You look weird.”

Harry laughed out loud. “Don't worry, it'll wear off soon, and I'll have to put the glasses back on.” He took another gulp of his pint, and then looked Draco up and down. “You look nice. You going on a date after this?”

Draco looked down at his plain white shirt and jeans with a frown. He would have dressed up way more than this if he'd been going on a date, Harry knew that. At least, Harry used to know that. He cast around for a different conversation, because this one was making his stomach twist in a strange way.

“Where are the others? Did you get tired of their company after six weeks and run away as soon as you got back?”

“No, they came back a couple of weeks ago. I stayed on on my own.”

Oh. That felt weird too; why would Harry want to stay on holiday on his own? “So, no cowboy for me, huh? I'm disappointed in you Harry, it's like you hardly thought of me at all.” Draco winced inwardly; bringing up the idea of sex with other people was really not conducive to what he was trying to achieve here.

Harry laughed again. “I knew you'd pick up on that 'surprise' I mentioned in my letter. You're so materialistic.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

“I just like to know I'm important to you, that's all,” Draco said, desperately trying to work out how to swing the conversation in the right way. “Spending money on me is the best way to show that.”

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the surprise isn't actually about you.”

“Oh no?” _Maybe it would be better if they went back home before Draco raised the subject._

“Nope. It's about me.”

“Do tell, I am all ears.” _They could pick up a take away on the way home._

“I'm getting married.”

_They could even take a walk through the park. It was a nice afternoon, they could make an outing of it. They could-_

_Wait, what?_

“Wait, what?”

Harry looked over the table at him, his green eyes sparkling. “I said, I'm getting married.”

“To _whom?”_ Surely nothing had happened between Harry and Ron on their road trip? The weasel was unrelentingly straight, much to Blaise's constant disappointment.

“Someone I met in America. His name's Jackson.”

“Does this _Jackson_ have a first name?” Draco was feeling light headed; he wondered absently if shock could give someone an out of body experience.

“Jackson _is_ his first name. Jackson O'Hare.” Harry smiled widely, drumming his fingers on the table and looking off into the distance with a sickeningly dreamy expression on his face.

“That's two surnames. That doesn't even make _sense.”_ In fact, absolutely _nothing_ was making sense to Draco right now.

“Well excuse me, _Mr Dragon of Bad Faith.”_

“Hey, that's breaking the rule. We don't make fun of each other's names. _You_ made up that rule.” Draco stared at his empty pint glass, wondering if it was the alcohol or the potions fumes he'd breathed in that morning that was making him feel sick.

“You started it.”

Oh God. This was actually happening. How was this happening?

“You're changing your name to _O'Hare?_ Harry O'Hare? That sounds ridiculous.”

“Actually, we've decided to hyphenate,” Harry said, although his smile had slipped a bit.

“Still sounds ridiculous.” Draco knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn't help it. Everything was just spiralling out of control, and he had no idea what was going on or how to stop it.

“I thought you'd be happy for me,” Harry said quietly, his fingers rolling his empty pint glass across the wood.

Draco looked up and caught Harry's gaze, and immediately felt like an arse. Harry was his friend, and he'd come to him with exciting news and all Draco could do was act like a brat. He should be better than this, he'd _learned_ to be better than this, and yes, okay, maybe he'd thought that he and Harry could maybe... But Harry was his friend, and there was only one thing he could do.

“I am happy for you,” Draco said, slipping a smile he didn't feel onto his lips. “It's just a surprise, that's all. Congratulations, Harry.”

Harry swallowed and his gaze slipped down to the table for a moment, but when he looked back up, his smile was firmly in place once more, although it looked a bit forced. “Thanks, Draco.” He leaned forward over the table. “You were the first person I wanted to tell.”

“Well, don't I feel special.” Draco tried to smirk, but wasn't sure he managed it.

“You bloody should, you prat.” Harry grinned at him, then stood up from the table. “Right, I'm going to go tell Ron and Hermione, because if they hear I told you before them, I'll never hear the end of it.” He rapped his knuckles on the wooden table. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

“Wait,” Draco said as Harry started to walk away. Harry turned back, his eyebrows raised. “When-” His throat closed up, and he coughed. “When is he moving over here? I can't wait to meet him.” _So I can hex him into the middle of two months ago so that you'd never have met the bastard._

“Oh, he's not. I'm going to move in with him.” And with that, Harry waved over his shoulder and walked out of the pub.

Draco stayed sitting at the table for a long time, staring at nothing. Then he pulled himself up and went over to the bar. “Hannah, would it be possible for me to use your floo?”

“Of course, love, powder's just on the mantelpiece.” She finished wiping down the taps and looked up, and her polite smile turned into a concerned expression. “Are you okay? You look like you've just had a massive shock. Lover's tiff, was it?”

No, he wasn't okay, but he couldn't do anything but pretend otherwise, at least for a little while longer. He tried to smile, but it felt wobbly and probably fell flat, if the worried look on Hannah's face was any indication. “No, nothing like that. I'm fine. Thank you.”

He walked over to the floo, grabbed a handful of powder and called out an address, and then stepped into the warm flames.

“Draco?” Pansy looked up from her seat on her chaise longue. “What are you doing here?”

“He's getting married, Pans,” Draco choked out. “Harry's leaving me.”

And to his internal horror, he felt hot tears well up and spill over his cheeks as he collapsed into a shocked Pansy's arms.

 

Draco honestly had no idea how he'd managed to survive the last month. He'd had to grind his teeth so often he was surprised he had any of them left, what with the amount of Weasleys and Gryffindors he'd had to put up with. Their flat had somehow been turned into a wedding planner's office, and Draco often found himself coming home from work, tired and smelling of the latest potions fumes, only to walk straight into a conference on fabrics or bloody flowers.

“Oh good, finally someone with taste,” Hermione smiled up at Draco. “You'll be able to answer this, gardenias or carnations for the boutonnieres?”

“Why would I know? Because I'm gay?” Draco hung up his cloak with a frown. “We don't all wear feather boas and sparkly eyeliner, you know.”

“She knows that, Draco, she's _my_ best friend after all.” Harry peered out from behind Hermione's bushy hair, one eyebrow raised as he pointedly looked down at his Chudley Cannons t shirt and grubby jeans. “She means that you're a pureblood elitist snob.”

“Well I wouldn't put it quite like _that,_ but that was the direction I was going for, if I'm honest.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but in pureblood marriages, everything is taken care of by the bride and groom's mothers. Or groom and groom, in this case.” Draco stared down at the bunches of flowers strewn across every inch of his sofa and scowled. “You should probably ask Mrs _Jackson_ thingy to talk it over with Mrs Weasley.”

He walked out of the living room and into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. It still didn't taste right; he'd probably bought the wrong type of paper whotsits for the filter. He threw the drink away and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower and the prospect of yet another night sitting in his room away from the planning going on in the rest of the flat.

It had been the same thing practically every night since Harry had come home. If it wasn't George Weasley sitting in the armchair planning his celebration fireworks for the reception, it was Ginny and Hermione talking about matching suits, or Mrs Weasley making a list of everyone's favourite meals for the reception dinner, or Luna going over the right words for the invitations. On the odd moments Draco actually found Harry alone, he was either knee deep in emigration forms and Auror transfer papers, or he was curled up in the corner of the sofa with that stupid bloody magical _phone_ his American boyfriend had bought him, smiling sappily and whispering things that Draco thought might make him vomit if he tried to listen in.

So Draco spent most of his time locked in his room, listening to the inane chatter and laughter going on in the rest of the flat, and wishing he had a place of refuge that he could slink off to until it was all over. There was the club, of course, but Draco really didn't have the energy, or the inclination. And after that mortifying conversation with Pansy on the day Harry had announced his big news, he couldn't go and spend time with his friends without seeing that _look_ on their faces, the one crossed between pity and worry. Seeing that was almost worse than having to listen in to Harry happily planning his future on another continent.

Of course, even avoiding Pansy didn't stop his mind from replaying their last conversation, most often during the times when he was alone and feeling particularly morose. Which seemed to be a lot of the time, unfortunately.

“You have to tell him, Draco,” Pansy had said softly, once Draco had managed to remove himself from her shoulder.

“Tell him what?” Draco had sniffed, wiping his eyes on the handkerchief Pansy had conjured for him. “Tell him that he can't leave because I'll miss sharing a flat with him too much? Right, I'm sure that would go over splendidly.”

“No, you need to tell him that you're in love with him,” Pansy had said, in the same quiet voice.

“That I'm- Pansy, what? I'm not- We're not- It's not like that!” Draco had spluttered. He'd tried to move away and stand up, but Pansy had held tightly to his arm.

“Look, I know you're doing this whole denial thing, and so far I've let you do that, but this is different. If you don't say anything- no, let me finish, Draco,” she'd said louder, her fingernails digging into his arm as he'd tried to interrupt. “Just let me say it once, and then you'll never hear anything from me on the subject again.”

Draco had swallowed and then nodded, keeping his eyes on the rug at their feet.

“Sometimes I think you forget that I was there, you know, for all of it. I remember the Yule Ball in fourth year -”

“I was fourteen!”

“And you couldn't keep your eyes off him! I was also there for the panic attack you seemed to have when it looked like he'd drowned during that Task in the lake. If it had been anyone else there but Vince and Greg, I'm sure quite a few uncomfortable questions would have been asked. And then there was our last year at school, and you watched him even before the two of you became friends.” Pansy slid her hand up his arm to cup his neck. “It's always been Potter for you, Draco. And I know what you promised yourself once the war was over, that you would never do anything again that made you unhappy or wasn't what you wanted, and I understand that. But what if not doing something makes you just as unhappy, and keeps you from what you really want?”

Draco was silent for a long moment, before finally looking up at her. “I can't, Pansy. You know I can't. I couldn't be what he... He's my friend, and I can't lose him.”

Pansy had regarded him with _that_ look, and then sighed in defeat. “Okay. I won't mention it again.”

“Tell me what to do?”

“I'm not really the best person for this bit, if I'm honest. You really need a non-Slytherin for this. But, I would suggest just being there for him, I think that sounds Gryffindor enough. As long as you don't push him away, you'll be fine. We are wizards, after all, so America isn't really all that far away.” She'd brushed his fringe out of his eyes and tried for a comforting smile. She was right; he really did need a Gryffindor for this. “You won't lose him completely.”

The idea of Harry being so far away made Draco's stomach hurt and his chest feel tight. He didn't know how to be who he was now without Harry there next to him; he'd become as much a part of Draco as his new-found unrepentant love of muggle TV and take out food. A part of him, a very small part that he never stopped to listen to, was worried that without Harry there, that maybe he would find himself slipping back into who he had been before; that small boy struggling to do whatever his father wanted, just hoping for a grain of acceptance.

So he tried to be there for Harry, pretending to smile when Harry got excited over the preparations for the wedding, and trying not to lose his temper when asked to join in. He sat, and he listened, and then he made his escape as soon as he could, so that he wouldn't put his foot in it and say all the things he really wanted to say. Things such as, _you've only known the tosser for a month,_ and _what kind of person asks you to move a continent away from your family and friends,_ and _how could you do this to me? Don't you know how much I need you?_

And then the month was up, and it was time for the wedding party to portkey over to America to set things up for the ceremony. A wedding party that Draco had somehow been made a part of, despite never actually participating in any of the planning.

Draco leaned against the wall of the Portkey waiting room and watched as Weasleys and bushy haired people with lists ran in and out, checking and rechecking bags and people, and he wondered how he was going to do this.

The same way as he'd got through the last month, he supposed. With a fake smile and a bottle of firewhisky transfigured into a water bottle.

“Got something you'd like to say?”

Draco turned to see Ron Weasley standing close by, his arms crossed over his chest and a warning look in his eye.

“What?”

Ron shrugged. “It's just seemed that ever since Harry told everyone, you've had this look on your face like you're chewing dragon dung so, I'll ask you again, got something you want to spit out?”

Draco looked at him for a long moment, and then shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Good. Make sure you keep it that way.” Ron nodded, seemingly to himself, and then took a step closer. “This Jackson is a good bloke, and he makes Harry happy. I'm going to make sure that nothing and no _one_ takes that away from him. Understand?”

Draco didn't, or at least, he didn't understand why he specifically was getting this little speech, but he nodded anyway. Ron nodded back and walked away, snatching the list out of Hermione's hand and folding it pointedly as she stared in dismay.

Draco didn't think he'd been all that obvious in his negativity towards the upcoming nuptials, and for Ron to notice anything it would have to smack him in the face first. But both Ron and Hermione had been cooler towards him in the years that he and Harry had been living together than they had been in their last year of school. If it had been just Ron, then he might have thought the redhead was just pissed at him for stealing his best friend, but Hermione was more intelligent than that. Maybe they thought Draco was corrupting the Chosen One with his constant presence or something equally Gryffindorish. Whatever it was, it was a moot point now; once Harry officially moved to America, Draco would have no reason to interact with any of them any more.

“Would the Potter Portkey Party please move to the Parnassus room in preparation for boarding.”

Draco snorted. “How's that for alliteration?”

The little blonde witch winked at him as she led them all through to their departure room. Transatlantic jumps were hard enough as it was, what with having to factor in time differences, but when there were a lot of people in one group, things were on a whole new level of difficulty. And there _were_ a lot of people going. George Weasley was there to organise the after party, and he was bringing Angelina, his work partner and girlfriend. Mr and Mrs Weasley were both going, so that they could get to know Harry's soon to be in-laws. Ron and Ginny were both coming along too, as was Hermione, so that she could organise everyone to within an inch of their lives, probably. And then there was also Draco, who had no idea why he'd been included as a member of the advance party, but was grateful for it all the same. The more time he got to spend close to Harry before it happened the better, as far as he was concerned.

The nine of them and their shrunken baggage all gathered around the deflated dingy, Draco pressed between Harry and Mr Weasley. As the portkey supervisor counted down the seconds, Draco let his shoulder brush slightly against Harry's. Harry looked over at him and grinned. Draco tried to smile back, but his breath hitched and he froze, just as the portkey activated and he felt himself being tugged through time and space.

“Welcome to the Amom, SF division,” a portly wizard with ruddy cheeks announced, as they landed in a room almost identical to the one they'd just left, with the exception of a large American flag covering one wall.

“They like their acronyms and initials here,” Ron said, as his parents looked at the man in confusion. “This is the American Ministry of Magic, San Francisco division. I think their headquarters are in Washington.”

“Well, that would make the most sense, so that they can liaise with the muggle President more easily, much like Kingsley does with the muggle Prime Minister,” Hermione explained as they were shown out of the room and down the hall.

After a brief flurry of legal documents, proving who they all were, they were then directed to another, smaller room where they would be portkeying to the hotel. Another quick tug and a squeeze, and they were all standing in one of the most opulent wizarding hotel lobbies Draco had ever seen, a limp black bag hanging between them.

Draco and the others stared around at their surroundings as a porter hurried over to take their used portkey and luggage. It was absolutely beautiful; a high arched ceiling adorned with golden filigree angels that fluttered from cloud to cloud, plush red carpet beneath their feet and dark wooden furnishing polished to a high sheen, flutterby bushes waving serenely in non existent breezes standing to either side of every doorway.

Draco had wondered out loud a week ago about how Harry's fiance would be able to put them all up in his home, and Harry had just told him that they would be staying in a hotel. Draco had assumed that the idiot was probably too ashamed of his hovel to invite Harry's family there, but looking around now, Draco was forced to conclude that that was very unlikely, considering the pure _money_ that this hotel screamed from every single angle.

Hermione had got out her list again, but before she could start ordering everyone about, a sudden loud bang came from the direction of the reception. Everyone turned to see a man come flying out of the office and vault over the reception desk, his toes clipping a pile of parchment and sending them fluttering to the floor. The two witches behind the desk sighed and shook their heads with small smiles on their faces as they stooped to clean up the mess, but the man didn't stop. Instead, he raced right up to their group, his shoulder slamming painfully into Draco's as he barrelled past him, and grabbed Harry around the waist.

“Finally! I thought you'd never get here,” he said, American accent thick and drawling, and then he proceeded to stick his tongue down Harry's throat.

Draco looked on in revulsion, his fingers itching to grab his wand and hex the bloke. Arthur Weasley cleared his throat pointedly, and Draco felt a sudden urge to hug the man.

Harry pulled away with an embarrassed smile and readjusted his glasses. “Everyone, this is Jackson. Jackson, I'd like you to meet my family,” he said, leaning back into the man's arm as he snaked it around his waist.

“Sorry, where are my manners?” The man – _Jackson,_ Draco reminded himself with a silent snarl – said, and held his hand out. “I got a little carried away, seeing Harry after so long. You must be Mr and Mrs Weasley, Harry's told me so much about you...”

The introductions were made, with _Jackson_ spouting some inane comment to everybody he shook hands with: _George, mate, I can't wait to see your fireworks, Harry says they're amazing; Angelina, God you're gorgeous, hey do you still play Quidditch?; it's so lovely to meet you, Mrs Weasley, my mom really wants to talk recipes with you, Harry says you're the best cook he's ever known,_ blah, blah, blah. It seemed that Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all met him along with Harry, because their greetings were made with smiles and hugs and _hey, remember that night with that drink that made our hair turn blue? I might have bought us all a few bottles to celebrate later._ Draco thought he might be sick.

And then it was his turn, and it was all Draco could do to not hex the bastard with his wand up his sleeve as they shook hands. “And you must be Draco,” _Jackson_ said, his eyes sliding from Draco to Harry and back again. “Harry's told me all about you.”

“Oh don't worry,” Draco drawled. “I'm sure he left quite a bit out.” He saw Harry frown slightly out of the corner of his eye, and he briefly wondered what he thought he was doing.

 _Jackson_ laughed easily. “Well, since he hardly shuts up about you, I'm not sure there can be all that much to find out.”

“I am quite the subject,” Draco agreed with a smile. “Although Harry hasn't told me much about you, unfortunately.”

“Yes I did, Draco. You just weren't listening,” Harry said quietly, staring hard at Draco.

"Well, now that I'm here, I can find out all about the man who wants to take our Harry away from us,” Draco said, smiling toothily at _Jackson._ The man was smiling back at him, but he thought he saw a slight tightening around his hazel eyes as they sized each other up. _Good,_ thought Draco. He decided he would worry about the consequences later. He just didn't _trust_ this guy.

“Jackson, mate,” Ron said from behind Harry. “How about we find our rooms, then we can all get together for a proper catch up, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!”

Draco drifted over towards the reception desk as everyone was handed their room keys and began climbing the grand staircase. Something crinkled under his foot and he bent down, picking up a piece of parchment the welcome witches had missed. He glanced down at it and saw that it was from a stack of hotel paper, with the name and address stamped across the top.

_O'Hare Hotel and Spa_

_Jackson_ hadn't just rented out a few rooms for the wedding. He owned the entire bloody hotel.

Well, fuck.

 

“Right, we've all got things to do today, and I've made a list...”

“What a surprise,” Draco mumbled to himself, as Hermione produced some parchment and a quill from thin air.

“George, the hotel manager is waiting to show you and Angelina where to start setting up for the reception. He says he's got a couple of brooms you can borrow, so you can get started putting up the anti-muggle spells to hide the fireworks.”

“Rodger that.” George grabbed Angelina's hand and pulled her out of the small dining hall, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle and smack his arm.

“Ron and I are going to look at some caterers, now that we have a menu sorted, and the flowers too, which leaves Draco and Ginny to make a start on arranging the guests' bedrooms and then go looking for a wedding outfitters.” Hermione handed Ginny another couple of pieces of parchment, and then smiled around at the group. “And we'll all meet back here for dinner, yes?”

“What about Harry?” Draco asked. “Doesn't he get a job too?”

“Harry is taking Arthur and Molly to meet Jackson's parents for the day,” Harry said, his gaze not lifting from Draco's untouched cup of coffee. “But don't worry, I'm not feeling left out. And I'm sure Hermione will think of something for me to do later.” He grinned at Hermione, who threw her quill at him.

“Come on then, Ron, flowers first, and then we'll go to lunch.” She grabbed Ron's arm and stood up from the breakfast table. “See you all back here later.”

Ginny waved her piece of parchment in front of Draco and he blinked, realising that everyone had got up to go about their jobs. He smiled wanly at her and blinked slowly, his lack of sleep the night before catching up to him.

“Jet lag?” She asked, an amused smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“Portkeys don't give people jet lag,” he replied, before realising that she was trying to give him an out. He sighed.

“Trouble sleeping then,” she said sagely. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.” Draco pulled the parchment out of her hands and looked over it. “Just not used to sleeping somewhere new. So, guest placements or clothes shopping first?”

“Clothes first, I think.” Ginny stood up and waited for Draco to join her. “You look like you need the fresh air.”

Draco huffed but didn't correct her. He didn't need fresh air, he just needed to be out of _Jackson's_ hotel for a while. He followed her out of the small dining room and over to the reception desk, waiting while the welcome witches found them a list of wedding boutiques in the area. Then Ginny hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the hotel into the bright morning sunlight.

Draco frowned down at the list. “Aren't we going to need a map or something to find all these places? We can't Apparate; we don't know where they are.”

“No need,” Ginny said. “In America, they have these.” And she stuck her wand arm out over the curb.

A second later, a violently yellow car popped into existence with a bang and slammed to a halt next to them with a loud screech. Across the side of the car, in flowing black script, were the words, _Yell-A-Cab._ Draco felt his jaw gaping as the back door swung open, the sounds of quiet jazz music swirling out to meet them. Ginny ducked down and slid across the black leather seat, smiling at Draco as he got in behind her.

“Yella cabs,” she said. “You know, because you 'yell' for a cab, and because of the colour. I think. Can you take us to the first place on the list, please?” She directed this last towards the driver, showing him her parchment, and the car moved forwards suddenly, slamming them both back into their seats. “It's the American version of the Knight Bus,” Ginny continued, as they both dug their fingernails into the armrests to remain upright.

“The driving's certainly familiar,” Draco mumbled, and Ginny laughed.

 

The first three places on their list had run out of the fabric Hermione had settled on, and wouldn't be able to order anything in before the end of the week. It was already Tuesday, and the wedding was set for Friday afternoon. The fourth place, however, _Grenadine Garments,_ had everything they needed and were only too happy to get started. Ginny handed over the list of measurements Hermione had given her, and they both browsed through the shop as the couple behind the counter began sorting everything out.

“Did Hermione get the measurements for _Jackson's_ side of the family?” Draco asked as he looked over the gold stitching in a set of midnight blue robes.

“Obviously, she's Hermione.” Ginny poked her head through the hangers. “Why do you say his name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you've just bitten into a flobberworm sandwich. You were doing it all last night as well, and every time his name came up you pulled a face like you'd smelled something bad.”

Draco tried to control his reaction and carried on looking along the rack. That was the second person to notice that he was less than pleased with the upcoming wedding in as many days; clearly he wasn't doing as well as he'd thought keeping a lid on his feelings.

They'd spent the rest of yesterday afternoon being shown around the hotel and grounds by _Jackson._ Everything was beautifully appointed, loath as Draco was to admit it. Each room had its own lounge and en suite bathroom, complete with huge walk in shower and claw foot bathtub. The complimentary soaps and shampoos were imported from a French potioneers that Draco’s mother had often exclaimed over, and the whole room was charmed with anti-fogging spells. The rooms and hallways were all layered with muting charms, the wall sconces adorned with a charm to light up as people approached. Wizarding portraits and landscapes hung in gilt frames, and mirrors handed out compliments as people passed. The hotel itself was huge. The ground floor had a separate games room, dining hall and ballroom, each set up for the guests to use at a moment's notice. There were also smaller rooms for conferences or small parties, and Hermione had instantly taken one over from which to micro-manage everyone in preparation for the wedding.

The grounds outside had been magically enlarged, swathes of perfect green lawns and dotted with cherry blossom trees that bloomed all year round. A glitter gravel pathway led behind the hotel proper and down to the spa, where there were separate Quidditch and Quodpot pitches, and even a couple of Swivenhodge courts. The spa itself had a pool filled with rainbow coloured water; little bubbles filled with electric blue light swam lazily through the different hues. The massage parlours had self-appointed massage and facial charms, and the hot tubs would give the Prefects Bathroom at Hogwarts a run for its money when it came to the amount of different foams and shampoos.

Afterwards, they'd had dinner in Hermione's new base of operations as Harry and Jackson had regaled the group with their adventures together once the others had finished their holiday. Draco had finally got to hear the story of how they'd met, told by Ron, amid much laughter.

“So, there I was with my leg stuck in this invisible trap, 'Mione and Gin pulling at my arms, and I look down and Harry's just straddling this random bloke's chest saying, _Er, sorry about this, but I don't suppose you know where we can buy a sobriety potion, do you?”_

By the time the after dinner coffee had been poured, Draco was about ready to start setting things on fire, just to have a distraction from everything _Jackson._ He'd taken a sip of his disgusting American coffee before pushing it away and excused himself to his room, where he'd proceeded to pace up and down the length of his bed well into the early hours of the morning.

There was just something weird about this _Jackson_ guy. He'd followed Harry into his room to help him settle in, and when they came back out Harry was once again without his glasses, the temporary charm back in place. Draco had found it hard to look at him until it had worn off and he'd slipped his glasses back on in the evening. This _Jackson_ would hardly leave Harry alone for a second, seemingly glued to his hip with a sticking charm, which Draco thought was highly inconsiderate of him, considering that in just a few days the wedding would be over and all of Harry's family would be going back home.

“I just don't trust him,” he spat out suddenly, and Ginny fell through the rack of clothes in surprise. “I mean really, who _proposes_ to someone they've only known for four weeks?”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but then bit her lip and grimaced. “I don't know,” she said finally, extracting herself from a particularly voluminous set of men's robes. “I think it's probably the sort of thing you do when it looks like you might lose someone you've fallen in love with.”

Draco scoffed, but he had a sudden vision of himself going down on one knee in front of Harry. _Harry Potter, would you do me the honour of being my flatmate and best friend for the rest of our long and stupid lives together?_ He sighed. Somehow, he didn't think Harry would take all too kindly to that.

“But how could they possibly know how they really feel? They hardly even know each other,” Draco said instead.

“Not everybody needs over half a decade _and_ a kick up the arse to work out how they feel.” Ginny shrugged, pulling on a taffeta scarf and looking at herself in the mirror. “Some people just know what they want, and they go for it.”

“You mean Gryffindor types.”

“No, I mean people with less baggage to work through.” She smiled at him, but her eyes seemed sad. “Going through a war will do that to people, make them less likely to jump.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, and Draco opened his mouth to ask what it was she wasn't saying, but the wizard at the counter chose that moment to call to them. Ginny sighed and walked up to the counter.

 

After a day of running around organising – or, in Draco and Ginny's case, sitting down and arguing about where to put all the guests without someone ending up in the American version of St Mungo's – everyone was too tired to do much the following day. Ron and Ginny took Mr and Mrs Weasley out to see some sights, while Hermione decided to oversee George and Angelina's work on the party. Draco waited until Harry left with _Jackson_ (and he couldn't seem to get rid of the inflection, even when he just thought the stupid name in his head. Although to be fair, he wasn't exactly trying very hard), and then decided to spend the day on the Quidditch pitch. He charmed a couple of bludgers to try and unseat him and then loosed the snitch, wrapping his legs around an old Nimbus 2001 for old times' sake. By the time he came down, he was sweaty and aching – and bruised; those bludgers had managed to out fly him more than a few times – and tired enough to legitimately beg off having dinner with everyone else and slink off to his room for the evening instead. As he finished up a round of cucumber sandwiches and a cup of tea in his room, sitting cross legged and alone in the middle of the huge bed, he wondered idly what Harry thought of his evading tactics. He came to the disappointing conclusion that it was unlikely that Harry had even noticed, what with how _Jackson_ seemed permanently attached to his elbow the last couple of days.

The next day was another flurry of activity. The wedding was set for the following afternoon, and so most of the day was spent trying on outfits and taste testing the menu. George let off a few experimental fireworks to check the muggle repelling charms, and it was while Harry and Draco were in the air, circling in order to report back, that _Jackson_ made his first mistake of the day.

“Wow, you guys fly pretty well,” he commented, as Draco raced Harry back to the ground.

Harry looked at Draco and grinned. “Draco flies better,” he said, then added with a wink, “but I tend to catch the snitch quicker.”

“Maybe I just let you win all the time.”

Harry laughed. “Oh yeah, those tantrums you throw after every game really sell that.”

“I'm a very talented actor, I'll have you know,” Draco sniffed back, studying his nails.

“How about we all play a quick game this afternoon?” Jackson interrupted, and Draco turned to stare at him.

“You can play Quidditch?”

 _Jackson_ shrugged. “It's been a while, sure, but I used to play a bit at school. What do you say, Harry? A quick five a side after lunch?”

Harry nodded. “If you can find three more players among the staff to make up the numbers, yeah. Should be fun.”

The afternoon found the entire group down at the Quidditch pitch. Hermione and Mr and Mrs Weasley were used to finding something to talk about while a match was being played, having long since realised that Quidditch was pretty much a staple in the world of their loved ones. They sat in the stands with Hermione's lists, while the rest of them stood on the grass and divided up the teams.

On Harry's team, Ron played Keeper, and George played Beater. Angelina and one of the welcome witches, a young girl with purple hair and an upturned nose, played Chasers. Draco was made Seeker for _Jackson's_ team on Harry's recommendation. A porter with a pimply face, whose name Draco forgot the second after they were introduced played Chaser along with Ginny, and a chambermaid with a rather unfortunate looking nose played Keeper. _Jackson_ was their Beater.

The game started off friendly enough, with each side throwing good natured insults back and forth, but then the snitch made its first appearance. It had been a long time since Harry and Draco had been on opposite sides in a match; usually in their pick up games they traded out the Seeker position to have a go at something else, which meant more often than not they were on the same team. It was a rule the rest of their friends had instigated after one too many fights had occurred during their friendly games at the Burrow. But once Draco caught a hint of that first golden flutter, everything else faded away. The rest of the players disappeared, the Quaffle became nothing more than an occasional flash of red in his periphery. The only things that mattered was Draco, Harry, and _catching that snitch._

Draco had no idea what the score was, or even how long they had been playing. But he knew that Harry had seen the snitch at the same time he had, because he stopped his slow perusal of the pitch and shot off towards where Ron was hovering near the goalposts. Draco leaned down closer to the handle to gain more speed; he was closer but he was flying into the wind, which slowed him down a little. Harry angled down at the same time as Draco angled upwards, and he saw that Harry was going to get to the little fluttering ball first. He let out a frustrated growl and reached his hand up, his fingers snagging on Harry's footrest. Harry wobbled on his broom, and brought his hand back to steady himself, and Draco pulled out from under him with a whoop, his fingers closing around the snitch. He let out a triumphant yell and winked at Harry, and then let his broom drift down to the grass pitch beneath him.

Harry followed him down and was on him before he could fully untangle himself from his broom. “Malfoy, you bloody cheat!” Harry brought his arms up and pushed Draco in the chest.

Draco pushed him back, one hand still clenched around his hard won snitch. “That was a legally recognised foul, Potter, and clearly you still need to learn how to lose gracefully.”

“I'll learn how to lose when you learn how to win fairly!” Harry grabbed him by his jumper and pulled him close, and Draco's feet tripped over his broom. They went down to the ground, kicking and shoving and punching, their snarls turning into breathless laughter as they realised how stupid they were being. It was the most fun Draco had had in more than two months.

A loud throat clearing above them reminded them that they weren't alone. Harry looked up from where he was straddling Draco's chest, one hand wrapped around Draco's wrist as he used the other to try and pry his fingers open and dodge Draco's slapping hand at the same time. Draco followed his gaze and saw that _Jackson_ was looking down at them both. He was smiling blandly, but even upside down, Draco could tell that it didn't meet his eyes.

“Er,” Harry said.

Draco snorted and rolled him off, sliding to his feet and offering Harry a hand up. “Eloquent as usual. What you're meant to say is, 'congratulations'. It's a rather long word, so I don't expect you to get it straight-”

“Oh shut up, you prat,” Harry interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

“That was some flying,” _Jackson_ said, and Draco didn't miss the way he eyed Harry's hand, where it still rested on Draco's shoulder. “You two are really something.”

“They're always like that when it comes to Quidditch,” Ginny said, toppling neatly from her broom to stand next to them. “In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea to put them on opposite teams. The need to beat the living crap out of each other becomes more important than the game.” She sneaked a glance at Harry. “They're both pretty passionate. About the game, I mean.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but a red flush was creeping over his cheeks and he glared at Ginny.

 _Jackson_ laughed, and Draco wondered if he was the only one who thought it sound forced. “I didn't realise you took Quidditch so seriously, Harry.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Literally _everyone_ knew that the only person who could match Harry's competitiveness in Quidditch was Draco. How had _Jackson_ possibly been able to miss that very obvious fact about the man he was supposed to be marrying?

“Right, let's get back, shall we?” Hermione said, making her way onto the pitch. “You're all going to need several showers before dinner.”

“And then the stag do!” George agreed, slinging his arm around Angelina as they all began to make their way back towards the hotel. “I've brought this awesome new potion I created for the shop. You add it to your drinks.”

“What does it do to them?” Ginny asked.

“Well, that's why I brought it. So we can find out!”

 

_Jackson's_ second mistake of the day happened in the middle of dinner. Mr Weasley was in the middle of explaining how he'd managed to charm his old car into becoming invisible, much to the disapproval of Mrs Weasley and fond reminiscent grins from Harry and Ron, when _Jackson_ reached out to take a chip from Harry's plate.

Harry's hand darted out, and the entire room seemed to fall silent as Harry looked down and seemed to suddenly realise that he was holding his fiance's wrist in a hard grip. “God, sorry,” he mumbled, and let go, his face heating up. “I wasn't thinking. I just... I don't like people taking food off my plate,” he finished lamely.

“Draco takes food off your plate all the time,” _Jackson_ said, his tone a little accusatory.

“No I don't,” Draco said quietly. “We trade for the things we like best.” He looked across the table at _Jackson_. “It's pretty obvious that Harry doesn't like it.” And it _was;_ you only had to look at the way Harry bracketed his plate with his arms to see that.

“Well, I'm not surprised, what with the way his horrid family used to treat him,” Mrs Weasley sniffed. “I still remember when you used to come to us, skin and bone you were, dearie. The number of times I begged Dumbledore to let us keep you, do you remember, Arthur?”

Hermione cleared her throat loudly and started talking about her List of Things To Do Before The Wedding, but _Jackson_ turned to Harry.

“Family? I thought you didn't have any real family?”

“He lived with his muggle aunt and uncle before school and during holidays,” Draco said, his eyes on Harry. Harry just looked down at his plate, his face red.

“And we _are_ his real family, blood related or not,” Ginny said from next to him. Her tone was pleasant, but Draco could see the way her brown eyes had narrowed slightly.

“Oh, of course. Sorry, I was just surprised is all,” _Jackson_ said, his hand coming up to rest on Harry's shoulder. Draco tried to hold in his sneer.

The rest of dinner continued politely enough, and Draco waited until the senior Weasleys declared their intention to return to their room before the stag party began. Harry went off to say goodbye to _Jackson,_ who was being taken on a tour of the city by his brother and friends for his bachelor party. As soon as he saw Hermione and Ron leave the room, he grabbed Ginny's arm.

“What else doesn't he know?” he asked furiously. “Does he know about the cupboard? About what they did to him when he was there? Does he know about the war? What about his nightmares? Has Harry told him _anything_ about himself?”

“I don't know, Draco,” Ginny replied softly. “Are any of those subjects the sort of thing you bring up when you're just getting to know each other?”

“They are if you're bloody _marrying_ the bastard!”

Ginny stared at him. “Have you not wondered _at all_ about why this is all making you so uncomfortable? Are you really that deep in denial about how you feel?”

Draco opened his mouth to start stuttering, but Ginny cut him off with a deep sigh. “I shouldn't have said that, I promised I wouldn't. And I'm sure Harry will get around to telling Jackson in time. Besides,” she added, staring at Draco evenly, “most of the things you know about Harry you haven't learned from him telling you about them. You've just been watching him for a long time.” Then she patted his arm and stood up. “Come on, we've got guests arriving in a few minutes, and then we have a duty to drink San Francisco dry.”

 

_Jackson's_ third and final mistake of the day was actually made earlier in the week, when he'd decided that it would be better to have separate bachelor parties. Maybe if he'd been at the party, Harry would have been too preoccupied with him to notice Draco. Maybe if he hadn't proved just how little he actually knew about Harry, Draco would have been able to put the whole thing out of his mind. Although probably not.

Harry and his friends and family had the run of the hotel, and now that all of the guests had shown up for the party and the wedding tomorrow, the place was practically overrun by Gryffindors. Finnigan and Thomas had launched themselves into the punch spiked with George's new concoction and were now floating by the ceiling, bubbles falling out of their mouths and emitting their high pitched giggling when they popped.

Draco had stuck to firewhisky, and had practically glued himself to the far wall next to Pansy and Blaise, after overhearing Hannah Abbott asking Longbottom why Harry wasn't marrying Draco.

_“But they've been living together for years, Nev, and with the way he looks at him, I thought-”_

_“I know, love, we all did. But things happen, I guess.”_

Draco stared down into his firewhisky as his friends left him for a dance. He supposed it wasn't an unreasonable assumption to make, from people on the outside looking in. He and Harry spent almost all of their time together, when they weren't either at work or with their other friends. For the past six years, nearly every weekend had been spent with the two of them arriving at Quidditch matches or group picnics together, and then leaving at the same time to go back to their shared home. During the week, they were so used to spending the evenings curled up together in front of the TV that if either Draco or Harry were going to be late home from work, they would send a message to the other to let them know. From the outside, that could probably be seen as a relationship.

They were certainly compatible enough for a relationship, in almost every way. And it wasn't that Draco didn't find Harry attractive – all too often he would have to ignore the thoughts of grabbing Harry, pushing him up against a wall and sliding his tongue past those sinfully pink lips before dragging him into bed. It happened almost every single morning, every time Harry stumbled out of his bedroom.

But they wanted different things from life, so it could never work between them. Harry wanted a wedding, marriage, children, the whole package. Whenever Draco even thought of the word marriage, all he could see was his father, sitting him down and explaining what was expected of him, how it was foolish for him to think that a Malfoy could spend his life with a man when he was expected to procreate and uphold the pureblood family line. The first thing Draco had decided once his father was sentenced after the war was that he would _never_ marry anyone. He was done doing the things his father expected of him, done with putting aside his own feelings. His father had wanted him to be straight and to have a respectable marriage? Then Draco was going to do the opposite.

Draco was broken out of his reverie by someone standing in front of him. He looked up and almost groaned with relief when he saw that Harry had put his glasses back on. He just didn't look like _Harry_ without them.

“Not having fun?” Harry asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.

Draco closed his eyes and bit his lip. Harry smelled sweet, like the cherry flavour of the punch, with that underlying _Harry_ smell that always put Draco at ease and feel like he'd come home.

Bloody Pansy had been right; he _was_ in love with Harry. And now it was too late, because he'd finally found someone who could give him what Draco never could.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, his breath slipping over the skin of Draco's neck.

Draco shivered and opened his eyes. “I'm fine, had a bit too much to drink. I think I'm going to go up to my room, excuse me.” He pushed past Harry, ignoring his surprised _“Draco, wait!”_ He walked quickly out of the ballroom and broke into a run as he reached the stairs. He just needed to be away, away from the party, from the loud music and the laughter, away from Harry.

His room was across the hall from Harry's and he leaned against the wall as he struggled to find his door key. It wasn't in his pocket; it must have fallen out downstairs. He pulled out his wand and was trying to work out how effective an _alohomora_ would be against these locks, when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Draco, for fuck's sake, why did you just run off?”

Draco bent over and hid his face in his hands. Harry came closer and put his hand on the back of Draco's neck, squeezing lightly. “Are you ever going to tell me what's wrong? I am still your friend, you know,” he said quietly.

Draco straightened up and Harry's hand slipped from his neck to his shoulder. Draco looked at him, at the way the light caught the tips of his perpetually messy hair, the way his green eyes always seemed to sparkle even when he was angry or upset, the way his plain black shirt and old jeans hugged every line of his body. Draco loved him, and it wasn't fair that Harry was getting married the very next day, and Draco would never know what his mouth tasted like under his.

“Draco?” Harry said. “Talk to me, please. Tell me what's wrong.” His fingers rubbed circles in the bare skin between Draco's neck and his shirt collar.

Maybe he'd had too much firewhisky, or maybe he'd just had enough of pretending to himself that he didn't want Harry, or maybe he was just so _furious_ at the unfairness of the whole situation. Whatever it was, something in Draco just snapped, and he _wanted_. He brought his hand up to Harry's chest and pushed, walking forwards until Harry was braced against the wall next to his door. Harry let him, tripping over his feet as he walked backwards, breath leaving in a surprised huff as his back hit the wall. His eyes never left Draco's face.

He could explain, he could say everything he's been feeling for the past month, for much longer if he let himself realise it, for years even, ever since their last year at school. He opened his mouth, but all the words got caught in his throat, so all Draco could do was lean down and press his lips to Harry's.

Harry let out a surprised sound and his fingers clenched in Draco's shirt for a moment, before pushing him away. Draco opened his eyes reluctantly and Harry stood there staring at him, one hand lifted to touch his fingers to his lips, the other still curled loosely over Draco's shoulder.

Draco sighed. “I'm sorry, I-”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed. “Just, shut _up.”_

His hand fisted in Draco's shirt and yanked him back in, and then Harry was kissing Draco, his tongue tracing across his lips and pushing into his mouth the second Draco gasped in surprise. His other hand clamped around Draco's hip and pulled him in closer, lining their bodies together from knees to chest as he practically fucked Draco's mouth with his tongue.

It was hot and perfect and tasted of cherries, and something about it was familiar – _they'd done this before._ But before Draco could chase that thought, Harry was shoving at him, twisting them both sideways until Draco felt his back connect with the door to Harry's room. He felt Harry struggling with something by his hip, and the next second the door gave way behind him and he was stumbling back into the room behind him, Harry hot on his toes.

“Harry, should we-” Draco gasped out, as Harry kicked the door shut and pulled him in for another kiss. He didn't even know what he wanted to say, because he didn't want this to ever stop. He didn't ever want Harry to stop kissing him.

“No, we shouldn't,” Harry answered him anyway, and Draco had no idea if he meant _no, we shouldn't be doing this_ or _no, we shouldn't stop_ but he didn't care, because Harry was now fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and kissing and biting at his collarbone and Draco's knees felt weak. “Just let me,” Harry mumbled into his skin, pulling the shirt down over his shoulders. “Just let me have this.”

The words were said so quietly that Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear them, and he was too busy trying to get Harry's jeans undone to pay them much attention anyway. So he let his actions speak for him, kicking off his shoes and toeing off his socks as they stumbled through to the bedroom, hands shoving at Harry's jeans, all telling Harry that whatever he wanted that he could give, Draco would.

By the time Draco fell backwards onto the bed, he was in nothing but his jeans, the fly undone and the waistband slouched around his hips, showing off the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear. Harry was down to his boxers and his glasses, and as soon as Draco's back hit the bed, Harry crawled over him, leaving sucking kisses from his navel to his chest until he reached Draco's mouth again. Harry ground his hips down as he kissed Draco deeply, and Draco wondered how it was possible that anyone could ever walk away from this without going insane. Harry was a force of nature like this; Draco could _feel_ the way his magic crackled and sparked as he ran his hands over Harry's back, making Draco tingle from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes. He was being swept away in the current, and Draco didn't care if it drowned him, as long as he got to feel _this._

Harry whispered the lubrication spell and grabbed Draco, turning them sideways until Draco was on top. Draco jumped and then groaned as he felt Harry's hand slide down under the waistband of his gaping jeans, fingers slick as they lightly traced Draco's hole. He braced himself on his forearms and then leaned in to kiss Harry again, grinding his hips against Harry's thigh in enthusiastic agreement.

He let out an embarrassingly high pitched whimper as one of Harry's fingers breached the ring of muscle, sliding in to just the first knuckle. The finger withdrew and Draco whined, the sound turning into a moan as Harry's finger slid up his crack to the base of his spine and then back down and in again, this time to the second knuckle.

By the time Harry had two fingers deep inside him, Draco thought he might just fly apart at the feel of Harry moving within him, sliding down to his perineum and back again, circling his hole before dipping back inside. He let out a truly pitiable sound that Harry swallowed as he withdrew his hand completely.

Harry chuckled quietly. “Jeans. Off,” he muttered, shoving Draco off of him and pulling at the material.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach in the middle of the bed as he kicked his jeans off his feet with Harry's help. His skin was pebbled with goosebumps at the loss of heat from Harry's skin, and he groaned in relief when he felt Harry press down against him. Harry twirled his tongue over the sweat gathered between Draco's shoulder blades as his hand slid down his spine and back between his arse cheeks. Draco couldn't stop himself from humping the mattress as two of Harry's fingers breached him again.

“We'll get there,” Harry murmured, twisting his fingers and hitting Draco's prostate, making him see stars. “I want to make you fall apart with this first.”

“You're a fucking tease.” Draco gasped out a laugh, and Harry pressed against the spot harder. “Who knew?”

“You would've, if you'd bothered to try and find out over the last seven years.”

Draco barely heard the words; sparks were flying in front of his eyes and his entire body felt as though it was on fire. He whimpered and moaned and shoved his hips back onto Harry's hand as Harry continued to finger him, slowly moving from two fingers to three, constantly alternating between shallow thrusts and deep, slow movements, only to pull out and trace the crack of Draco's arse until he was shivering before sliding his fingers back in again.

“If you don't fuck me soon I might actually die,” Draco managed to gasp out, as Harry inched him back from the edge of orgasm for a third time.

“Should've known you'd be pushy in bed,” Harry said, but he pulled his fingers out and whispered the protection spell.

He felt Harry's knees pushing his thighs further apart and he tilted his hips. His skin flushed hot all over in tiny pinpricks of pain and pleasure as Harry pushed inside him in one slide. They moaned together and Harry rested his forehead between Draco's shoulder blades as he let Draco get used to the feel of him. Draco's hips jerked and his cock slid against the sheets as he tried to get Harry to move.

“Move, Harry move, for fuck's sake, come on,” Draco panted out. He pushed at the mattress beneath him, but he couldn't get enough leverage to shove back against Harry and force him to move.

Harry laughed, his breath hot as it slid over Draco's skin. “Like I said, pushy.”

But he slid out and then pushed back in, angling his cock so that it brushed against Draco's prostate. Draco cried out and one of his hands flew back, grabbing hold of Harry's arse and holding him tight against him as he rode the sparks of pleasure.

“Make up your mind,” Harry mumbled into the skin of Draco's neck.

Draco laughed. “Shut up and fuck me, Harry.”

Harry's hands slid from Draco's shoulders to his hips, pulling his stomach off of the bed. Draco braced his knees more firmly against the mattress as Harry began to rock into him, fingers digging bruises into his skin.

Draco felt as though this was both a long time coming and too soon all at once. The feel of Harry's skin sliding against his, the possessive way his hands dug into his hips, the scratch of stubble across his shoulders as Harry sucked bruises into his skin, it all felt _right_ in a way that Draco was certain he'd never felt before. This was where he was supposed to be, underneath Harry, on top of him, around him and inside him, and he wanted so badly to be the person Harry was marrying tomorrow.

But he wasn't, because Draco was never going to marry _anybody,_ and Harry deserved to be with someone who could give him everything he wanted.

Draco pushed up away from the bed, bringing himself up to his knees and sitting back in Harry's lap. If he was only going to have one night with Harry, then he wanted as much contact as he could get. He nearly cried in relief when Harry's hands slid round from his hips, pulling Draco's back tight against his chest as he moved inside him. He reached a hand back and curled his fingers into Harry's hair.

“Fuck, Draco, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mumbled, one hand sliding up to grip loosely at Draco's neck. The other moved down, fingers curling around Draco's neglected cock, making him cry out and move his hips back faster.

“You gonna come for me?” He whispered into Draco's ear, and Draco nodded furiously. “Yeah, come on, come for me Draco, wanna see, wanna see how beautiful you look when you come all over my hand, Come on, let me see, let me see you.”

Draco cried out as his orgasm overtook him. He came hard, white strands of come shooting all over his chest and Harry's hand, his back arching away from Harry and his neck pressed tight to Harry’s shoulder.

“Fuck that's hot,” Harry said as Draco shivered against him, his vision whited out and his entire body filled with tiny electric shocks. Harry pushed him back down to the bed as he rode out the aftershocks, fucking into him deep and hard. Every stroke nailed his over-sensitive prostate and Draco's eyes rolled back into his head. Harry thrust a half dozen times more and then shoved in deep, his body one long line against Draco as he came inside him.

Harry collapsed against him as he came down, and Draco lifted a heavy hand and threaded his fingers through Harry's sweaty hair.

“Stay,” he mumbled quietly, as Harry began to slide out of him.

“I'm not sure that's possible,” Harry replied with a breathless laugh. A moment later and Draco felt a light cleansing charm washing over him, and then Harry was pulling the sheet out from under him and covering them both in a blanket.

“Not what I meant,” Draco muttered, almost incoherently. He snuggled into Harry as soon as he lay down next to him, slinging one leg over Harry's thighs and an arm around his waist. It was late and he was drunk and had just been fucked to within an inch of his life by the man he'd been in love with for longer than he even knew to admit, and he didn't care about anything more than being in bed with Harry. He wanted to curl into Harry and never let go. He wanted to get to know every slant of Harry's mouth, every angle of his body. He wanted to trace every scar with his tongue and he wanted to tend to every one of Harry's wounds from work and he wanted to wake up in the morning and go to bed at night just like _this,_ and he didn't care that it was something he'd told himself he'd never do.

“Stay,” Draco said again. “Don't move to America. Stay with me.”

He was asleep before he heard Harry's reply.

 

_“Do you know what we should do?” Draco giggled into Potter's neck. It was late – or early, depending on your definition – and they were both drunk on firewhisky and lack of sleep. The common room was empty and he and Harry were on their favourite sofa, drinking and giggling and kissing instead of studying for their NEWT exams like they were supposed to be doing._

_“What?” Potter asked, before going back to sucking at the sensitive skin beneath Draco's ear._

_“We should have sex,” Draco whispered, and ground his hips down into Harry's beneath him._

_“That is a fabulous idea,” Potter mumbled into his skin, thighs gripping tighter to Draco's hips. “Except that I don't do that.”_

_“You don't have sex?” Draco was pretty sure that wasn't true; he knew Potter had slept with Goldstein back when they were together for a couple of months._

_“I don't have casual sex,” Potter corrected, sliding his fingers through Draco's hair and making him moan._

_Draco stopped the movement of his hips and tried to focus on Potter beneath him. It was more difficult than he'd thought; his vision was blurred and the room was spinning slightly. “Why the fuck not?”_

_Potter looked up at him and shrugged his shoulders against the cushions. “Because it's not what I want. There needs to be something more there for me to really enjoy it.”_

_“You are missing out, my friend,” Draco said, pulling back and sitting up. The room spun more quickly and his stomach turned over._

_“Why?” Potter asked. “What's so good about it?”_

_“Well, you can do whatever you want, can't you?” Draco tried to get his thoughts in order, but they weren't cooperating. “No strings, nobody telling you what to do.”_

_“You mean your father isn't telling you what to do,” Potter said quietly._

_“That too.” Draco nodded, then grabbed his head and groaned. “I am never getting married. That was my first rule, you know.” He was going to have to go to bed before he passed out, Draco thought. Or maybe said, he wasn't sure._

_“Never?”_

_“Nope.” Draco shook his head and then grimaced at the lurch in his stomach. Oh Salazar, he was going to puke._

_“I want to get married,” Potter said, snuggling down into the cushions and closing his eyes. “I want a house and some kids and a family crup, all of it.”_

_“That's because you're a sap, and you don't know what you're missing out on.” Draco reached out to bop Potter on the nose and missed, almost poking his eye out instead. “Where are your glasses?”_

_Potter giggled. “I think you're sitting on them.”_

_“So I am.” Draco dropped the glasses onto Potter's chest and then wobbled to his feet. “Well, if you ever change your mind about casual sex, you know where to find me.”_

_“Passed out on the bathroom floor?”_

_“Probably.”_

 

Draco hummed quietly as he slowly began to wake up. The sheets were warm beneath him, but when he slid a hand across the bed he encountered cool empty space where a warm body should have been. He blinked his eyes open and waited for the pounding in his skull to go away.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, I'm here.”

He turned onto his side and looked about the room. Harry was sitting at the end of the bed, his back to Draco. He'd already showered; Draco followed a water droplet as it slipped slowly down from Harry's hair to his waist.

“Are you okay?”

Harry didn't turn to face him, and Draco watched as his shoulders shook lightly in a soft, humourless laugh. “Me? Oh, I'm great. It's my wedding day, and I just woke up in bed with a man I'm not actually marrying. I'm fucking perfect, Draco, how about you?”

“I-” Draco sat up slowly, his head aching and his lower body throbbing. His neck was painful to the touch, and he knew he most likely had a ring of bruises the exact shape of Harry's mouth there. “I have a headache,” he said lamely.

Harry laughed. “Draco, you _are_ a headache.” He stood up, pulling on a pair of jeans. His hair was ruffled and he wasn't wearing his glasses.

“We did this before,” Draco said, remembering his dream. “Or, not this but almost, when we were at school.” He shook his head, wincing when pain lanced through his temple at the action. “I forgot, or I never remembered, or something, _fuck_ my head hurts.” He looked up at Harry, who was now busy pulling on a t shirt and looking for his trainers under the bed.

“You're going through with it, then?” He didn't really know why he asked, or what he expected the answer to be, but the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Harry finished hopping on one leg and stood up, fully dressed. His glasses dangled from his right fist. “You finally remember that night at Hogwarts then?” When Draco nodded, he raised an eyebrow. “You remember what I said? About why it couldn't happen?”

“You don't do casual sex.” Draco drew his knees up under the sheet and rested his elbows on them.

“I did last night,” Harry said, and finally put on his glasses. Draco's chest eased slightly; now he looked like _his_ Harry, instead of the one that belongs to _Jackson._ “But all those things that I wanted back then, I still want. I want a house, I want kids, I want a pet crup, the whole marriage package. Jackson can give me that.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I'm going to give that up over one night with you?”

“No, I-”

“Because that's all this was, right? One night of casual sex? Because you don't want what I want, do you, Draco? You don't want to get married, ever, right?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't; all he could see was a vision of sitting in his father's study, being given a lesson on a Malfoy's duty to the family line. _Marriage and children, Draco; upholding the family honour is always our first priority._

Harry took his silence for his answer and sighed. “Look, it's fine, we've been dancing around this for years, all our friends talk about it. Hermione calls it _unresolved sexual tension_ , or whatever. But now it's resolved, yeah? So now we both know what it's like, and we can move on.”

Draco didn't want to move on, he wanted to drag Harry back into bed and promise him all the things he could ever want. But he was frozen, stuck in his head and locked in a battle of wills with his father.

Harry leaned down and picked up Draco's jeans from where they had been flung the night before. “I have to go, I have things to do before the wedding.” He threw the clothes next to Draco on the bed; the key to his room fell out of a pocket and onto the white sheet. “When I get back, you won't be here.”

Draco watched the door close behind Harry and then he picked up his key.

 

Draco dressed haphazardly in the suit he was supposed to be wearing for the ceremony in a couple of hours, noting absently that it was a beautifully perfect fit. Had he been in the right frame of mind, he might have spent some time in front of the mirror, admiring the slimming effect of the dark material and the way it accentuated the paleness of his features in a flattering way. But all he could think about, as he slung the tie around his neck, was that he needed to get out of there, as quickly as he could.

He'd spent the last two hours in his room, just across the hall from where he'd spent the night with Harry, pacing up and down the length of the suite. He'd been so stupid, thinking he could have casual sex with Harry and for it to only ever be just that. He could still taste him on his tongue, still feel the ghost of his hands moving across his skin, still feel his breath against his neck. But casual sex was all it had been for Harry; one last night before he went off to marry _Jackson_ and get everything he ever wanted.

Draco had to leave, he had to get out of here before he did something stupid, because he knew he couldn't watch Harry get married to someone else while Draco could still remember the taste of his skin.

He was grateful for the quietness of the plush carpet as he slipped down the hallways and onto the stairs, keeping as close to the walls as he dared so that he wouldn't be seen. He lurked by the archway to the lobby, waiting for a glimpse of at least one dark head. As soon as he spotted them, he darted over, grabbed Pansy by the elbow and Blaise by the scruff of his neck, and all but threw them into an empty conference room. He cast a quick glance through the door to make sure they hadn't been seen, and then shut it quickly, leaning against it with a sigh.

“As much fun as I find playing super spy, is there a reason why we're suddenly hiding out here?” Blaise asked in a drawl. “I was just about to get my hands on some rather good champagne.”

“Leave him alone, Blaise, can't you see he's having a crisis?” Pansy sat down in one of the armchairs and looked at Draco. “What's going on?”

Draco let out a deep breath and curled in on himself. “I need to leave,” he mumbled into his hands. “I can't do this, and I need you to help me get out of here. Now, preferably five minutes ago.”

“What's happened?” Pansy asked, her gaze shrewd.

“Nothing,” Draco mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “I've just realised I don't want to be here for this, that's all.”

“Nice of you to wait until the last bloody second,” Blaise said, but Pansy put up a hand to shush him.

“No, something's happened. You were fine last night. Well,” she amended, “You haven't been fine since before Potter went on holiday the first time, but you haven't been,” she waved her hand up and down in Draco's direction. “Like this.”

Draco stared at the floor for a long moment, before blurting, “I slept with Harry.”

“Fucking finally,” Blaise burst out, at the same time as Pansy said, “Last night?”

Draco nodded miserably and sat down next to Pansy. “And it was a mistake, because now I know that I... but I can't give... and he wants to get married and I can't stay and watch it, okay, so please, just help me get out of here.”

“Potter wants to get married, or Potter wants to marry this Jackson fellow?” Blaise asked.

“Either. Both. It's the same thing.”

“Actually they're quite different,” Pansy said quietly. “One of them means you still have a chance.”

Draco shook his head. “I don't. You were right, okay Pansy? Is that what you want to hear? You were right and I should have said something, but I didn't and now it's too late.”

“It's not.”

All three of them whipped their heads around to stare at Hermione, who was leaning against the wall next to the door.

Draco swallowed. “You were listening?”

“Of course she was,” Blaise waved a hand impatiently. “More importantly, what do you know?”

Hermione ignored him and focused her gaze on Draco. “You need to talk to him.”

“I tried to this morning, he'd already made up his mind.”

“Maybe you weren't saying the right things.”

He actually hadn't said much of anything. Draco sat back to think, and Pansy leaned around him, staring hard at Hermione. “You seem almost invested in this, Granger. Care to explain why you think Draco still has a chance?”

Hermione seemed to roll the question around her mouth for a moment before she decided to reply. Then she sighed. “Because Harry has been in love with Draco for the last six years. He's made us all promise to never mention it to either of them.”

Draco looked up, shocked, a volley of denial on his lips, but as Hermione just regarded him with what looked almost like an apology in her eyes, he realised. “That's why you and Ron stopped being as friendly with me, isn't it?” He frowned. “So it's okay for Harry to be friends with an ex death-eater but not to love one, is that it?”

Hermione shrugged lightly. “Yes and no. It was fairly obvious how he felt, to me anyway, by the end of our last year at Hogwarts. Both me and Ron were fine with it, when he finally told us. But then you two decide to get a flat together and I wasn't sure if it would be good for him, because he was pretty sure it was all one sided.

“And then you started bringing home the boys you met at the club, and Ron was convinced that you knew how Harry felt and that you were just rubbing his nose in it, just because you could. I wasn't so sure, but every time we were all together, you'd be all over Harry at the same time as flirting with everyone else and I just couldn't make up my mind.”

“I didn't know,” Draco said quietly.

“Probably because you've been so bloody scared of doing anything worthwhile to notice,” Pansy interjected hotly.

“What? I'm not scared!”

Pansy gave a disbelieving snort. “That's bollocks and you know it, Draco. Ever since the war, you've been terrified of committing to anything at all, just on the off chance that it might be the wrong choice. You've stuck yourself in a menial job even though we all know you want to be a healer,” she carried on, over Draco's protests, “and even though old man Scutternut worships the ground you walk on you never push for anything more. You pick up those irritating little sycophants at the club because you know nothing meaningful could ever come out of them, and you've driven yourself into a rut with Potter, contenting yourself with only having him as a friend, because you're scared that if you go for anything more that you could lose it.” She got up, throwing her hands up in the air and glaring down at Draco, who sat gaping at her.

“And I'm sick of it! So you're going to get up, find Potter, and tell the tosser what we've all known for bloody years, that you love him.”

“What she said,” Hermione interjected with a smile, and then winced. “Only without the tosser part.”

Draco blinked, and then blinked again. And then he shut his mouth with a snap and stood up. His hands were shaking. He thought he might be sick.

“So we're doing this?” Blaise said, as though from a thousand miles away. “We're actually breaking up a wedding an hour before the ceremony?”

“Well, it has been a while since us Slytherins did something to uphold the name,” Pansy replied with a wicked grin. “I'd say it was about time, wouldn't you?”

“Okay,” Hermione said loudly, clapping her hands together. “Draco, Harry should be in his room, getting ready, I was about to go up and see if he needed anything. You two need to go and distract Ron, because he'll notice if I try anything. I'll make sure nobody comes up to bother you, Draco.”

Draco nodded faintly, and Blaise let out a sound of delight.

“Wow, when Gryffindors set their mind to something, they really don't fuck around, do they?”

“Nope,” Hermione said breezily. “It's how we won the war, after all.”

“Touche.”

“Right, come on Blaise, let's go seduce a redhead.” Pansy grabbed Blaise and he let out a whoop.

“Darling, I thought you'd never ask,” he crowed, and they sauntered out into the milling crowd of guests in the lobby.

Draco swallowed and looked at Hermione. She gave him a soft smile. “Just tell him how you feel. He'll listen if you make him.” He nodded jerkily and walked towards the door. Just as he reached it, she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hurt him, Draco, and I promise you'll live to regret it.”

He looked at her, and for the first time he truly understood just how this girl had become a war hero, with her steely gaze and absolute surety in her own abilities. He coughed, and then nodded once more.

“Fair enough,” he said, and then walked through the door.

 

The door to Harry's room was open when Draco arrived, a tiny sliver of the room beyond visible to him from the hallway. Draco pushed it open wider, taking in the clean and tidy lounge area. A snapshot from the night before flashed across his eyes, blurry and tilting with alcohol and lust, but Draco remembered the clothes strewn about the furniture, the open suitcase laying on the rug in front of the sofa, the scattered cups and plates on the sideboard. Harry might be the one at home who remembered to take out the rubbish, but Draco was the one who picked up after Harry, put his clothes in the hamper ready for them to be washed, put his used crockery in the sink. After spending so long cleaning up after his horrible muggle relatives like the hired help, Harry took every opportunity he could to be messy, and Draco let him, a part of him revelling in the ability to do the things he'd always taken for granted before.

The neatness of the room told Draco that Harry was no longer here.

He stepped further into the suite to look around; maybe Harry was in the bedroom area, finishing up his packing before moving on to the honeymoon. Draco only just realised that he had no idea what Harry was going to do after the wedding. All he knew was that he would be here, with Jackson, while Draco went back home to their flat alone.

The fist came out of nowhere and Draco was laying flat on his back on the floor before he even knew what happened. He brought a hand up to his mouth and his fingers came away bloody. He looked up to see _Jackson_ standing over him, shaking his right hand and flexing the fingers.

Draco snorted and pulled himself up into a sitting position. “You know,” he said conversationally, “There was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about hexing you just for daring to put your hands on me.” He licked at his bloody lip and wiped his hand on his trousers.

“You fucked my fiance,” _Jackson_ said flatly. “You don't think I deserve a freebie?”

“Actually, he fucked me, but I suppose that's just semantics.” Draco got up from the floor and sat down on the end of the bed. “I'll give you your freebie, but not because of last night.” He shrugged. “I'm a different man, these days, not that you'd know much about that.”

“No, I suppose I wouldn't.” _Jackson_ sighed, sitting down next to him. “I should have figured it out really, just from that. He talked about you,” He explained, when he noticed Draco's confused look. “He talked about all of you really, but with _you,_ it was different. Like he wanted to talk about nothing but you and at the same time keep you a secret from everyone but himself.”

“I have a bit of an unsavoury past,” Draco said lightly, in probably the understatement of the century. “He and I kind of made it a point to leave it there.”

“I wasn't worried at first, you know, when I met him.” Jackson picked at the waistcoat he was wearing, the white shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. “I mean, it was clear that he had feelings for you, but it was also obvious that it was one sided, at least as far as he knew. I didn't think I had anything to worry about.

“And then you all arrived here, and I knew.” Jackson laughed, pursing his lips. “The way you two look at each other when you think nobody else is watching. I guess I just sort of hoped that you'd never get the chance to look at each other like that at the same time and see what everyone else sees.”

“He's not here, is he.” Draco didn't ask, because he knew. He knew that Harry would never be able to go through with a wedding after having just been unfaithful, he just wasn't that kind of person. He'd ruin his own chances at happiness in favour of doing the right thing, always.

“No, he's not, and I don't know where he's gone, either.”

“And you wouldn't tell me even if you did, right?” Draco smirked.

Jackson turned to look at him. “You don't know me, so I'm going to let that slide. But I love Harry, and if you're what he wants, then I'm not going to stand in the way of that. Not any more, anyway.” He stood up, brushing off his suit and running his hands through his brown hair. “Talk to Ginny, she'll know.” He walked out of the room.

Draco waited until he reached the door and then called out. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. For how it happened, that you got tangled up in it.”

Jackson turned back. “Are you?”

“Whatever you might think of me, Harry loves you, too.” Draco shrugged. “He was willing to give up everything for you.”

Jackson shook his head. “I don't think it was me he was giving it up for, just what I could offer him.” He raised a finger to his chin in mock thought. “Wouldn't it be nice if he could find someone who could offer all the same things, without him having to give up anything?” He smiled sadly, and then left the room.

Draco fell back against the bed and blew out a breath. The sheets had been changed since last night, but he turned his head into them anyway, certain he could still smell Harry and the evidence of their night together. Then he sat up. He had a girl Weasley to find.

 

“Where is he,” Draco murmured into Ginny's ear.

The downstairs was in chaos; Mr Weasley was frowning and talking in a low voice to Jackson's parents, while Mrs Weasley clutched at her face next to him. Guests from both sides of the wedding party were gathered in small groups, gossiping amongst themselves. Every so often, one would break away and twirl themselves into another group, trying to find out what was going on. Draco had already had to duck both Ron Weasley and George, while he scanned the lobby in search of familiar long red hair.

“What makes you think I know,” Ginny whispered furiously back. She was leaning against the wall, trying to look as innocent as possible. Draco wondered how she ever got away with anything at school; her poker face was worse than Harry's.

“I know he spoke to you; out of everyone, you're the only one who would help him without asking questions first. Besides,” he smirked, “Jackson told me.”

“ _Now_ you finally decide to say his name nicely,” Ginny grumbled, then she sighed. “Fine. But I'm only telling you because I think Harry's being stupid. Not as stupid as _you,_ obviously.” She looked Draco up and down and then gestured at all the people flapping about in a panic. “Look at the mess you've created just from being so bloody thick.” She hissed the last of the sentence out through her teeth.

“Could you save the lecture until _after_ I've found Harry?” Draco whined, looking desperately about the room. “I don't have long before everyone realises that _I'm_ the reason everything is all fucked up.”

“Oh stop panicking, you're fine,” Ginny huffed. “Harry told Jackson the truth, because he owed it to him, but he's told everyone else that he's just changed his mind.”

“Ginny, where did he go?”

“He went home.” Draco felt a weight ease in his chest at the words, because _home_ meant _their flat,_ which meant- “He's packing up his stuff and moving into mine and Hermione's, until he can find himself a place on his own.”

Draco stared at Ginny. “He's what?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “And this is why I'm telling you. Because he seems to think that whatever happened between the two of you last night was just a one off. He said he couldn't marry Jackson because of what he did, but that he can't live with you and pretend that nothing's changed either.”

She turned to face Draco, lifting one of her hands to fist in his jacket. “If you fuck this up, I really think you'll have blown it for good this time, so you get home and you say whatever you need to to convince him that he's wrong.” She shook her head slightly. “We've all been sitting around waiting for the pair of you to get your acts together for far too long, we all should have said something about it sooner.” She gave his chest a little push. “Go, now. The reception desk has portkeys to the MoM, you can sort yourself out from there. I'll try and keep this lot off your back for a while.”

Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Ginny, thank you.”

She looked up at him steadily. “Trust me, Draco, you won't be thanking me if you hurt him.”

“I believe you.”

 

Getting out of the hotel turned out to be the hardest part. Ducking down behind the reception desk, Draco had managed to persuade one of the welcome witches – her upturned nose looked slightly familiar, he thought she might have been one of the staff who'd played Quidditch with them – to find him a ready made portkey to the American Ministry. He appeared in the cool beige hallways still in his crouch position, and had received more than a view funny looks. But he played up being British (it was amazing what Americans would let you get away with when they heard an accent) and found someone to help him requisition a transatlantic portkey back home.

He'd had to wait an hour, so by the time he landed in the British portkey office, the charmed windows were showing a rapidly darkening London outside. Draco apparated straight into their living room, almost landing on a box, filled with odd things belonging to Harry that they kept in this room.

It looked like Harry wasn't fucking around with his decision to move out; he hadn't even bothered to do all of this before the wedding that hadn't happened. It made Draco wonder if Harry had ever been truly willing to go through with his permanent move out of the country.

It made him wonder if a part of Harry had been hoping Draco would do something to put a stop to it.

Draco could hear movement from down the hall, so he slowly and quietly picked his way past boxes and empty spaces where Harry's things should have been until he came to the doorway to Harry's room. The door was flung wide open, and inside was a mess; boxes and bags all over the place, some shrunken down and ready to move, others gaping open with things spilling out onto the floor. Harry stood in the middle of it all, his back to Draco as he directed the packing with his wand.

Draco leaned against the door. “If I'd known a shag would get you in the mood for some spring cleaning, I'd have suggested it years ago.” He frowned. “Autumn cleaning. Is there such a thing as autumn cleaning?”

Harry spun around to face him, his eyes wide in surprise. “Draco, what-” He cut himself off with a snarl. “Ginny. Look, whatever she said, it doesn't matter, okay? Just, give me an hour and then I'll be out of here.” He flicked his wand and a few boxes folded themselves up and shrunk down in size.

“And why are you leaving? I know it's not because you're marrying Jackson today. The bruise on my face can attest to that,” Draco said lightly. He was deflecting with humour, he knew it, and he couldn't seem to make himself stop.

Harry looked up. “He hit you? He shouldn't have done that,” he said, when Draco nodded.

“Well, apparently I've been very stupid, so perhaps it was warranted.”

Harry sighed. “I know. It was a mistake, that's why I'm leaving. We can't exactly go back to being flatmates after that.”

“Who says I want to?”

Harry winced. “Hence the packing, Draco.” He sighed again. “Look, it's been a very long day. Could you just let me get on with this, please?”

Draco stepped forward, lifting his feet over a couple of boxes until he was only a couple of steps away from being able to reach out and grab Harry. And oh, how he wanted to, but he had a few things to say, first.

“You know, a few people have told me today that I might have a chance at sorting this all out, so I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen, okay?” Harry looked up at him, but Draco noticed how he wasn't making eye contact. “And I mean really listen to what I'm saying. Don't do that thing where you twist my words into what you think you're meant to be hearing.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, and Draco allowed himself a small smile before clearing his throat. This was likely his only chance; he had to get it right.

“I don't want to get married because I was brought up knowing that a loveless marriage was all my future held for me. I don't want kids because all I've ever been taught was that children are nothing more than an heir to carry on the family name.” He paused and then added, “And I don't want a crup, because their fur makes me sneeze.”

Harry huffed in faint amusement, and then sighed. “Draco, I know all this, which is why-”

“I wasn't finished,” Draco said, and stepped closer, close enough now to reach out and touch, but he didn't dare, not yet.

“I don't know that I'll ever be able to want these things without them getting all tangled up with my father's expectations of me in my head. I don't know that I'll ever be truly comfortable with the idea of marriage and a family, because I don't know how to do those things properly. But I _do_ know this.” He reached out, finally, his hand coming up to cup Harry's cheek, fingers sliding into soft black hair, and he pressed their foreheads together.

“I know that I can't drink coffee unless you make it for me, because it just doesn't taste right otherwise. I know that I don't want to go out anywhere if you're not here to come home to, because there's no point in making stories happen if you're not there to tell them to. I know that places seem empty and too quiet without you, because you fill up entire rooms with your presence, even without saying or doing anything. And I know that I love you, and I will try anything if it means making you happy.” He brought his other hand up to frame Harry's face, almost whimpering out loud as he felt Harry's hands slide up to wrap around his hips.

“Please, Harry,” he whispered. “Let me try.”

Harry moaned and brought their mouths together in a fevered kiss, lips opening almost immediately as his tongue demanded entry. Draco gave himself over to it wholeheartedly, and somewhere through the haze of emotions he dimly realised that this was the first time they had kissed without being drunk first. He wanted to catalogue every moment, every hot slide of Harry's tongue against his own, every nip of teeth, every swallowed sound, every flex of Harry's fingers against his hips, every prick of stubble as Harry kissed down his neck. He wanted to remember it all in the way that only a sober mind could, catching on to every tiny little detail and filing it away for perusal later.

Harry drew away with a gasp, arms locking at the elbows as Draco tried to move with him. “This can't just be a casual sex thing,” he said breathlessly, seemingly unable to pull his gaze away from Draco's lips. “I don't care if we never get married, I don't care if we only ever borrow other people's kids for the weekend, but this can't just be a casual arrangement.” He looked up finally, and Draco found himself drowning in a sea of green. “I don't care about the rest, but it has to be just you and me from now on.”

He did care about those things, and Draco knew it, just as surely as he knew he would do whatever he could to give them all to him. But he just nodded, and whispered, “Just you and me, Harry, I promise,” and this time when Draco pulled him close again Harry didn't resist.

Together they stumbled and pushed and pulled each other over to the bed, until Draco found himself underneath Harry for the second time in as many days. Something in his chest settled and clicked into place, as Harry leaned down over him, pulling at the tie around his neck to bring Draco closer to him. Draco thought that _this,_ being here with Harry, was a thing he could definitely get used to.

As Harry dragged him up into a sitting position and began to remove his suit jacket, Draco found himself thinking of all the times he'd been in Harry's room before, in his bed, when he'd been woken by either Harry's nightmares or his own, and had crawled in to cuddle up to Harry, until the dawn chased away the visions of blood and death and war. Draco shrugged his way out of his jacket and waistcoat and thought about all those nights snuggled up next to Harry, watching movies and falling asleep next to each other, only to separate and go to their own rooms at the end of the night. He moaned into Harry's mouth as his shirt was removed, and he thought of all the mornings when Harry looked sleep rumpled and adorable, and it had been all Draco could do to not grab him by the wrists and pull him in close, to smell the coffee on his breath and taste the warmth of him under his tongue. He pulled back to strip Harry of his t shirt and he thought of all those missed moments between them, when they could have had this.

He could have had the way Harry trembled under his touch, fingers smoothing down his sides to rest on his hips. He could have had the soft sighs Harry gave as he leaned in to kiss a path down Draco's chest. He could have had the salty sweet taste of Harry's skin under his tongue, licking a path up his neck to his jaw. He could have seen how dark Harry's eyes could get when they were blown out with lust, the way his dark lashes framed the green so perfectly. He could have had this and this and _this,_ if only he hadn't been so scared of himself.

“I love you, Harry.” And it was easy now, so easy to say the words and know what they meant, know that loving Harry didn't mean giving in. Loving Harry meant _jumping,_ and for the first time in forever Draco could feel the wind in his face and _wasn't scared._

Harry smiled down at him. “I love you, too. Although apparently quite a few people have told you that already today.”

“I wouldn't mind hearing it more often.”

“Nah, it'd just go to your head, I know what you and your ego are like.”

“And yet you love me anyway.”

“And yet.”

Harry pushed Draco back down onto the bed and then slithered off his lap, mouth trailing a line of sucking kisses from his throat to his belt buckle. Draco lifted his hips as Harry undid his trousers and pulled them down, taking his underwear and shoes and socks with them. He slid his hands up the inside of Draco's thighs, bending his head to bite a mark into Draco's skin by his hip.

“I really never thought I'd get to have this,” Harry whispered, running his tongue along the crease of Draco's thigh. Draco didn't think he was supposed to hear that, so instead of answering he just moaned lightly, stretching a hand down to curl his fingers into Harry's hair.

He wasn't trying to direct him, but still Harry chuckled and nuzzled into the touch. “See? Pushy,” he murmured, and then bent his head to lick a stripe up the underside of Draco's cock.

Draco jumped and almost bit his tongue when Harry took the head of his cock into his mouth, tonguing the slit before sliding down. “Fuck, you- you're good at that,” Draco babbled slightly. “How did you get so good at that?”

Harry pulled off with an obscene pop. “I haven't exactly been celibate since school, you know.”

Draco felt an irrational surge of jealousy over that, and he resolved to make sure that Harry never even _thought_ of sex with anyone else for a very, very long time. Hopefully forever. He resolved to think about how to make that happen just as soon as Harry got his sinful mouth off of Draco's dick, because it was currently very difficult for Draco to focus on much beyond _hot_ and _wet_ and _perfect, fuck, so perfect, never stop, fuck!_

Draco shuddered in anticipation as he felt slick fingers cup his balls, rolling them around before sliding down towards his hole. Harry's mouth was still wrapped around Draco's cock, and Draco whimpered when he realised that Harry had used wandless magic to conjure the lube.

He's a Slytherin; demonstrations of power have always turned him on.

Harry finally let up on the perfect suction around Draco's cock to travel upward, laving his tongue across Draco's nipple and making his back arch. His slick fingers circled Draco's hole, and he bit down on Draco's left nipple just as he breached him with the tip of one finger. Draco cried out and clenched his hand in Harry's hair. Harry let out a pleased hiss and flicked his tongue over Draco's abused flesh.

“We only did this last night,” Draco panted, circling his hips to try and drive Harry's finger deeper. “You don't have to be so gentle about it this time.”

“But I like doing this to you,” Harry replied softly, licking up Draco's throat and moving his finger in maddeningly slow shallow thrusts. “You flush so prettily, it's been my main fantasy for years, ever since I saw you.”

“When – _oh God_ – when did you see me?”

“Last year of school,” Harry whispered, bringing his other hand up to pinch and roll Draco's right nipple. “You were in the changing rooms after one of our matches. I came back in to ask you if you wanted to come down to the pub after your shower, and there you were.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were standing under the spray, one hand wrapped around your cock, and you had three of your fingers buried in your arse.” Harry let out a whimper at the image he was obviously replaying in his head. “Your cheeks were pink and you were flushed all down your neck to your chest, and all I could think about was getting down on my knees and replacing your fingers with my tongue and rimming you until you cried.”

It was Draco's turn to whimper at the image that caused, and he wanted it so much he was seriously considering getting down on his knees to beg for it to happen right the fuck now.

“I'm going to do that to you one day,” Harry continued, pushing another finger in alongside the first, still far too shallow and slow. “Lick you open, take my time, make you fall apart under my tongue until you come all over yourself from just that.”

 _“Harry,”_ Draco breathed out, unable to take the teasing pressure of Harry's fingers alongside the pictures Harry was painting with his surprisingly dirty mouth. “More, _please,_ I need more...”

“I'm going to do this one day too,” Harry went on, speeding up the movement of his fingers just enough to make Draco keen with an almost unbearable need. “Gonna fuck you with my fingers until you can't take it anymore, until you're begging me to fuck you.”

“Only if I get to do it back to you in return,” Draco gasped out.

“I've thought a lot about the things I want to do to you, Draco.” Harry raised his head, looking down at him with green eyes turned almost black. “About what I want you to do to me. Have you ever thought about that?”

And suddenly Draco realised that he _had,_ even though he'd never let himself dwell on it. He'd thought about shoving Harry up against the wall of their hallway, sucking bruises into the skin of his neck while he brought him off with his hand down his trousers. He'd thought about bending Harry over in the kitchen and fucking him over the table before sending him off to work with Draco's come still dribbling down his thighs. He'd thought about sucking him off on the sofa while watching a movie. He'd thought about fisting his hand in Harry's hair and fucking into him hard and deep every time Harry came home from work with a new injury, just to show him who he belonged to, whose life he was risking along with his own when he got reckless on his job.

“I've thought about all of it,” he whispered, and Harry moaned and leaned down to claim his mouth in a hard kiss as he finally, _finally_ started moving his fingers with intent.

“Fuck me,” Draco mumbled, sliding his tongue through the stubble on Harry's jaw. “Come on, I'm _so close,_ and you're still wearing your fucking _jeans,_ this isn't _fair, come on-”_

“I've decided I like the pushiness,” Harry said, removing his fingers and kneeling up, undoing his fly and shoving his jeans and pants down his hips.

Draco didn't bother to wait for Harry to get his trousers the rest of the way off. He raised himself up on one elbow and whispered the lubrication spell, reaching out and running his newly slick fingers along Harry's cock the moment it was freed from his pants. Harry hissed and batted his hand away.

“This is gonna end a lot sooner than you want if you touch me right now,” he said, a slight bashful smile lifting his lips.

“Then hurry up and fuck me.”

Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's hips and pulled him in, and Harry gripped himself and guided his cock into Draco. They both groaned aloud as Harry pushed into him, and Harry leaned in and gave Draco a chaste closed mouthed kiss as they waited for Draco to adjust. And then they were moving together, Draco tilting his hips as Harry slid in to meet him, hands sliding over sweat-slick skin, gripping and releasing only to press finger shaped bruises somewhere else.

Draco felt both completely consumed and utterly free, his skin on fire with a burning need to get closer to Harry, while his chest felt light as air. He realised dimly, as Harry continued to kiss him and he kissed back, tongues tangling together and swallowing each other's moans and grunts, that he'd lived with a weight on his chest that he hadn't even noticed until he found this with Harry. Draco felt as though he would float away, if it weren't for Harry grounding him with just a touch.

He loved him. He loved him. _God,_ he loved Harry _so much._

He didn't even realise he'd been speaking out loud until Harry whispered back, “Me too, I love you too, oh _fuck,_ Draco,” and then he was coming between them, hot and wet and _perfect_ between their stomachs as Harry whispered his name once more and then came deep inside him. Harry pressed his forehead to Draco's and they breathed into each other for minutes, hours, _days,_ the both of them just amazed that they each got to have _this._

Finally, Harry's softening cock slowly started to slip out of him, and Draco winced slightly. “Sorry,” Harry said, sliding onto his side and kicking his jeans off his feet, flinging them across the room.

“It's a good thing you didn't pack the bed up first,” Draco mused, shifting around until his head found a pillow to lean on.

Harry leaned up on one elbow and looked around the room. “Ugh, now I'm going to have to unpack all over again.”

“Not yet.” Draco reached out a heavy hand and grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him to lie down next to him. “Besides, most of this stuff is going to be moved into my room now, anyway.”

“Why your room?”

“Because if you think I'm spending my life tripping over piles of bloody Auror files, you need your head examined.” Draco pointed at the haphazard stacks of papers still littering the floor.

Harry sighed and flopped down next to him. “Fine, we'll move into your room. But you're going to have to get rid of some stuff in your wardrobe to make room for my stuff.”

Draco thought about being outraged, but he couldn't summon the energy, and his mind was already flipping through a number of 'pulling' outfits he'll no longer be needing. “Deal. But not yet. We've got seven years of missed time to catch up on.” Draco pulled Harry to him and kissed his temple, then his cheek, and then finally his mouth with a soft press of lips.

“I don't intend to leave this bed until we've made a serious dent in those lists of ours.”

 

_Six months later_

“Oh my God, they’re at it again.” Ron toppled off his broom and sat down on the grass.

Ginny landed next to him, holding out a hand for Hermione to take as she walked up to them. The rest of the players folded themselves down on the ground with them, shaking sweaty hair out of their eyes and grinning with amusement at their two seekers arguing on the other side of the impromptu pitch.

“I think it’s sweet,” Ginny said, accioing the pumpkin juice and cauldron cakes their mum had set outside for them all.

“I thought finally shagging each others brains out would have put a stop to all this,” Ron moaned around a mouthful of cake.

Ginny snorted. “If you seriously thought that, then you’re even dumber than you look.” She smiled over at the two boys; they had progressed from yelling at each other and were now, rather predictably, rolling around in the mud. “I think it's like foreplay for them.”

Ron choked on his mouthful and shot her a dirty look. “You're disgusting.” He looked round at the rest of the group, all of whom were watching the fight unfold with varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You're all disgusting.”

Over on the other side of the pitch, Draco finally managed to get the upper hand in their regular after-match fight. He straddled Harry's stomach and snatched his wrists together, the snitch still fluttering madly in Harry's grip.

“I won it fair and square, Draco,” Harry gasped out, struggling to get out of Draco's hold. “It doesn't even matter if you take it from me now. I _won.”_

“How about I swap you for it?” Draco asked, grabbing Harry's wrists tightly in one hand so that he could sneak the fingers of his other into the pocket of his jeans.

“For _what?”_ Harry asked, looking adorably confused.

“For this.” Draco held out his hand.

Harry went limp in shock; the snitch took its opportunity to fly away. “B-but you don't _want_ that,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the simple platinum ring sitting innocuously in Draco's palm.

Draco shrugged. “I want you,” he said simply. “This way, I get to keep you. It doesn't seem so scary now that I know that.”

Harry looked up at him, his green eyes wide and so, so hopeful. “Are you sure?”

Draco just smiled and reached out, sliding the ring onto the third finger of Harry's left hand. “I love you, Harry. And I want the world to know that you're mine.”

Harry surged up and kissed him hard and deep, stealing Draco's breath. “We'll have to get one for you too,” he said when they finally parted, kissing the words into Draco's neck. “So everyone will know that you're mine too.” He slid his hands into Draco's hair and pulled back to look at him.

“Deal?”

Draco grinned widely. “It's a deal, Harry.”

They kissed again, ignoring the catcalls from the others and groans of _get a fucking room_ from Ron, until they had to pull back before Draco lost all his sense and fucked Harry right there in the field behind the Burrow.

Harry might have caught the snitch, but Draco knew that somehow, they had both won the game.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/24497.html).


End file.
